


Seven String Sweep

by laurel_whoisaghost



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alt Dis, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bisexual Kíli, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Durincest, Ex-body builder Dis, Fiki, Fili Kili and Dis are not related, Fluff, Heavy Drinking, M/M, METALHEAD EVERYBODY, Metalhead Kili, Multi, Partying, Polyamorous Thorin, Thorin and Kili are still related, bagginshield, hipster Fíli
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 53,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4772522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurel_whoisaghost/pseuds/laurel_whoisaghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fíli Durin, a young man in his late 20s, works at a health food grocery store with his worldly older friend Thorin O'Shee. Thorin invites Fíli to see his nephew's band one night, and Fíli finds himself thrown into the lives and struggles of a metal band rising through the scene toward their goal of being signed on a big-time record label. Fíli and Kíli, the young, Irish lead guitar player, hit it off, but Kíli's reckless partying and heavy drug addiction complicate not only their budding relationship, but the future of his band as well. No one knows whether or not Kíli's intense devotion to the music or Fíli's dedication to Kíli will be enough to save the band or even Kíli's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chia Seeds and Borrowed Shirts

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of what will likely be a long piece. It is un-beta'd, but long in the revision process. I'd be happy to work with someone on future chapters, but this one is a test of the waters, so to speak.
> 
> Please feel free to leave a comment if you have any suggestions or would like to tell me something!

“Did you find everything you were looking for today?”

Phillip Durin stood behind a beeping cash register in a blue flannel shirt and black apron, packing a container of flax seed into the reusable shopping bag on the counter.

“Fíli, seriously? You’re going to ask me that? I work here.”

Fíli’s blue eyes widened, shooting to his left as he focused on the face of the customer. He’d been on autopilot for hours and hadn’t realized who stood before him.

“Thorin, geez man, I’m sorry.”

Thorin O’Shee reached over, his silver streaked hair falling forward as he passed his few remaining items over the scanner while Fíli shook his head.

“Long day, huh? Almost out?” he asked, settling his final item in bag, adjusting the sides so the green emblem stood out flat against the canvas.

Fíli nodded, deftly pressing several keys on the rubber-filmed register as he ran his hand back into wavy blonde hair restrained in a thick bun. He inhaled deeply the scent of copper pennies and bulk health foods.

“Forty two seventy seven. And you have no idea. I’ve been sweeping up chia seeds since noon, it feels like. Some asshole kid climbed the bulk shelf and pulled the whole thing down.”

Thorin leaned his hip on the stilled belt to chat, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest. Fíli stole a quick glance as a few dark hairs came into view at his neatly folded collar. He’d always believed his friend to be attractive, the man was older, thoroughly educated, and his deep voice was dark silk over bare skin, not to mention his well-shaped beard beneath a straight Roman nose, but work and general anxiety over rejection kept his preferences a secret. Fíli momentarily busied himself with digging in his apron pockets—anything for an excuse to pull his eyes away from Thorin’s throat as the man laughed easily at his complaint, white teeth flashing.

“So it’s been a normal day and you’re just being sour about it? You should have been here for the great thaw of ’06—power went out in a big storm and we lost the entire refrigerated section when the generators kicked on and surged the power over night. It was a massacre. The gelato! The brie!”

“The horror!” Fíli interjected. “Thorin, you tell me that story every time I’ve got something to whine about. Can’t you just let me have it for once?” He leaned on the counter as well, picking one sore foot up and then the other, relief only mild as he knew he had another hour of standing on the less than supportive matting over the hard cement floor.

“Tell you what. I’ll let you complain as much as you want if you do me a favor,” Thorin said, hand going to his bearded chin.

“Oh? And that favor would be…?” Fíli drew out the last syllable, playfully suspicious, as he looked at the older man. Thorin was well known for his wily sense of humor, and Fíli was as likely to end up signed up for a 300 mile back packing trek as he was to pick up a shift over the weekend.

Thorin spoke slowly, a hint of cunning in his voice.

“I want you…” he pointed at Fíli, “to come with me to my nephew’s show.”

Fíli blinked, brows drawing in to the bridge of his nose. Now it was his turn to cross his arms as he questioned his friend.

“A show? What, like a soap opera with the in-studio audience?”

Thorin rolled his eyes, standing straight.

“It’s my nephew, not Oprah, Fíli. He’s in some band and he told me about these scout-type people from a music label that have been around. The more people show up with wrist bands that say the band’s name, the more good PR they get. I told him I’d try to make it, and I’d rather not go stag.”

Fíli mulled the idea. He wasn’t particularly good in social situations, and Thorin wasn’t known for being hugely talkative, but a night out sounded good. It had been months since his last real sojourn into the nightlife of the city. He was starting to feel old—and at 29, this wasn’t a welcome realization.

“What kind of music?” Fíli asked, turning his blue eyes down and plucking at the apron pockets again. He tried to look casual, unwilling to show his friend how much he was struggling with the decision.

Thorin mumbled an answer as he dug into his shopping bag which still stood on the counter, rummaging out some brand-name, organic granola bar.  
“I’m sorry?” Fíli puzzled.

“Metal. But it’s got some long type he always calls it. I don’t know—black ultra-brutal death thing. Something. Look, would you just come with? I’ll buy drinks.” Thorin was desperate enough to add “All night!”

“Metal? Really?” Fíli balked. He’d barely branched into anything heavier than rock, and even that pushed it as he preferred acoustic sets with more unusual instruments like banjos or calimbas. 

Thorin clasped his hands in front of himself, closing his eyes and shaking his interlocked digits in a universal gesture of pleading. It was another moment’s enjoying Thorin’s theatrics before Fíli acquiesced.

“Okay, I’ll go. But you have to promise never to bring up that stupid power outage again. If I have to hear about exploding limburger containers one more time, I’m shoving one up your ass.”

Thorin laughed, taking a bite of his granola bar. It crunched, crumbs raining on the counter where Fíli stared at them, glancing pointedly from the bits back up to Thorin.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” the older man flung back. “But you’ll come? Wonderful. It’s tonight at the Green Dragon. Should I pick you up?” 

Fíli nodded, blushing slightly at the thought of Thorin in his skivvies, serving up a cheese board. “Yeah, if you’re buying, I’m drinking.”

Thorin scowled. “Oh, I see how it is. Any way, if you brought that little bike of yours you wouldn’t be able to fit any ladies on the back with me on it too.”

Now it was Fíli’s turn to pull a face. Women weren’t particularly high on his interests list, but he hadn’t told Thorin this. Their friendship had grown quickly over the past few months, but Fíli wasn’t sure if he could trust the older man with that fact yet. His preferences had gotten him hurt before, and Fíli’s cautious nature wasn’t yet willing to test the strength of a fledgling friendship.

“Just text me your address; I’ll pick you up at nine. They won’t be on until eleven or so.” Thorin picked up his bag, slinging it over a shoulder and tossing his dark hair out from under the strap. “Oh, and Fíli?” he said, turning to walk toward the automatic doors, “lose the hipster vibe. Try something on from Dís’ closet, yeah?”

Fíli scowled hard and threw the handful of crumbs at their maker—they bounced off his broad back.

“Missed a spot in your chia sweeping!” Thorin called back, heading out the doors.

Fíli sighed and picked up his broom.  
*****  
Fíli’s bike hummed to a stop as he pulled into the short driveway of the home he shared with his sister, pulling up beside the dark blue Mini Cooper she left parked there when she travelled for work. He planted his feet on the cement and popped his helmet off, breathing deeply as the visor passed over his mouth and nose. The summer air was wet as the sun set, and he could smell the impending rain. Fíli swung his leg over the bike, listening to its small engine click as it cooled. He pulled the tarp he’d tossed that morning out of the bushes and flung it over the bike, yelping as an earwig fell out of the crunching grey folds. He watched it skitter under a tire tread.

“God dammit, I hate those things. You better not be on my seat tomorrow,” he hissed at the insect as he bundled his helmet under his arm and tucked his keys in his pocket.  
Fíli reached for the handle of the screen door, pulling the squeaking barrier open but stopping short as he heard a crash inside. The heavier interior door stood open several inches, and as he pushed it further the noises only grew louder—a plastic, scattering sound met his ears before a loud exclamation.

“Noooo!” came the feminine wail from deep in the house.

Recognizing his sister’s cry of distress, Fíli’s shoulders dropped and his fists unclenched—he hadn’t realized he’d gone on the defensive.

“Dís?” he called.

A young woman poked her head out from a doorway down the hall. She was just shy of five and a half feet tall, and her black dyed hair was held in a high and lose tail to the left side. The right was shaved close, the silvery blonde hairs there almost long enough to conceal an intricate geometric pattern tattooed in rays outward from her ear that stretched almost the whole side of her skull.

“Hey brother,” she replied, walking into the kitchen where Fíli stood. Her black leggings covered half of her feet and her steps were quiet. Fíli raised one eyebrow at her unusual antics.

“Dude, what’s the matter? Also, thanks for telling me you’d be home early, not like I wanted some time to clean this place up or anything.” Fíli hid his jab in humor while he placed his helmet on a high shelf next to the door behind him, hanging his thin leather jacket on a hook. The brown folds flapped against the wall over a noticeably neglected pile of mail, newspapers, and pocket detritus which Fíli turned his back on for the umpteenth time that week.

Dís plopped into a chair at the small kitchen table. Her torn black t-shirt hung from one shoulder as she put her head down onto her arms and softly banged her forehead against them.

“I left my best contouring brush in the studio back in Tokyo! That thing cost 250 bucks! Black squirrel hair, hand-made, ebony handle with a beaten silver barrel! I can’t go see my agent without it. They paid for the stupid thing so I could have it for that Ghost in the Shell cosplay shoot! I’m ruined!” she groaned and burrowed her face into her arms.

Fíli laughed and leaned over to his older sister, plucking the exact brush from its place skewered through her pony tail and rolled it across the table as he took a seat. He kicked his feet up on its surface away from her. Dís shot up, snatching the tool of her trade, and checked it over obsessively.

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank’ and ‘you’,” Fíli teased, a wry smirk on his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What’re you doing home so early, anyway? I thought you wouldn’t be out of Japan until Wednesday?”

Dís shook her dark head, black pony tail tossing around her shoulder.

“The area evacuated as early precaution for a tsunami, so they wrapped early. I’m only here for a few days, though. Back at it next week, the slave drivers!”

Fíli smiled, his sister—perpetually over dramatic—was nearly his best friend; it was good to have her home if only briefly, and he told her as much.

“I’m glad to see you,” he said, giving her knee a brotherly pat and then stretching with a huge yawn.

“Long day?” Dís asked, returning the smile with a warm one of her own, still leaning forward at the table.

“You don’t know the half of it. And I’m going out again tonight!” he reached up behind his head, tugging the elastic band from his bun, shaking the thick blond waves loose to relieve the impending tension headache growing behind his eyebrows. Dís perked up at his statement.

“Oooh, going out out? Got a hot date, brother mine?” she nudged him with her dark polished toes under the table. It had been a long time since she’d heard her brother talk of anything but his ex and their former social life, now in shambles as they worked through a pile of mutual friends all still unsure of who to side with after the messy break up.

“Ugh, no. Not like that. It’s just Thorin—he wants me to go to his nephew’s metal show,” Fíli explained, his blue eyes closing as he scrubbed a hand up over his rough chin. “What was I thinking saying ‘yes’? I don’t know anything about metal, and I’m so tired I’ll just be a dick tonight anyway. And it’s Thorin! He’s going to know that I can’t take my eyes off his ass and I’ll destroy our friendship and and…” Fíli trailed off, groaning as he swung his long legs off of the table, matching his sister’s earlier position with his head on his arms.

“Ooh, Thorin!” She teased further. “Sounds like a hot enough date to me! Tell me you’re going to let me put your face on. I’ve got this charcoal grey liner that’d make those blues of yours deep enough to drown in. Best way to catch a man, I always say. Drown him.”

Fíli sat up, scratching the few days’ growth of beard on his chin.

“I’m not looking to catch a guy tonight, dude, drowned or otherwise. But uh…do you have a shirt I could borrow or something? Thorin said to ditch my flannel, so apparently it’s borrow or go naked, since that’s all I’ve got right now.”

Dís sized her brother up, eyes roving up and down as she mentally catalogued her wardrobe of alternative style clothing.

“Not really sure that Thorin would object to seeing you naked, but I think I’ve got some stuff in XL from back in my body building days. Ugh, god I miss my pipes,” she squeezed her bicep, mock flexing what was still fairly impressive musculature. “You gunna rock the beanie tonight, or can I play with your hair too?”

“Why not both?” Fíli answered.

“Because I’m not going to waste my time if you’re just going to cover it up with your hip nonsense, you dingus. Please,” she begged, “lemme play with it! Mom didn’t give us these glorious locks just so you could be selfish with yours.”

Fíli snorted, rolling his eyes at the mention of estranged family, and leaned back in the chair, drumming his fingers on the table top.

“Yikes, don’t compare me to that monster. What’ve you got in mind anyway…” he was cut off as Dís had already run to her room, coming back with a black shirt and plenty of product for some cosmetic transformation that, to Fíli, was an unknown torture.

“Ready!” his sister chirped happily, depositing the armload on the table.

Fíli worked his throat over an audible gulp.  
***  
At 9:05, Fíli trudged down the dark driveway and climbed into Thorin’s car, a newer sedan with glowing navigation screen which lit the man’s face. His eyes roved over Fíli, the unlit cigarette between his lips drooping as he passed judgement with an open mouth.

“Are those braids? With…with beads?”

Fíli’s face burned hotly and he tugged his hat a bit further down, slinking low in the leather seat.

“You know Dís, dude. She’s back from Japan and I guess it’s a thing. I don’t know. And honestly, they’re complicated enough that I don’t even think I could get them out without scissors.”

Thorin lit the cigarette that hung in his lips, tossing the lighter in the cup holder with a plastic clatter.

“What’s a ‘Suicide Commando’?”

Fíli nearly suffered whiplash at Thorin’s abrupt change of topic, looking down to examine bright emblem on the tight black shirt he wore under his zip up hoodie.

“No idea; it’s Dís’ shirt,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “Please just drive, man. After the day I’ve had, it’s time to drink.”

“Yes, sir,” Thorin retorted, chuckling deeply as he backed out of the driveway and steered the vehicle in the direction of down town. Fíli, face still hot, squirmed in the passenger seat, an unusual nervousness climbing up from his belly. Wishing he could bum a cigarette, he resisted the temptation, watching small dots of rain patter the windshield with increasing frequency until they reached the Green Dragon, the storm that the humid evening had promised slowly rolling in.


	2. The Green Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili finds out what metal shows are really like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must make this particular note here. Any band names used in this chapter are influenced only by the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings movies and novels. Any similarities they have to names of bands in real time are purely coincidental and I do not own the rights to any of those groups.
> 
> As for the music here, this chapter was written entirely while listening to the following bands: Mnemic, In Flames, Fear Factory, Devildriver, Sybreed, and the Devin Townsend Project.

The two men arrived at the show around 9:30 after the summer sun had fully set. The venue wasn’t overly large, but small was the wrong term to describe it, as it held capacity around 800 people. In fact, a large crowd milled around under the partially covered patio, smoking, drinking, and laughing raucously. The rain was holding at a mere sprinkle and beat a quiet, uneven rhythm on the vinyl awning.

Fíli followed Thorin, weaving between cars and trucks with large trailers in the dark parking lot. As they approached the doors, his sense of unease grew. He could hear some thrashing drums from inside and they seemed to latch onto his pulse, kicking it up to a faster beat. He didn’t know what to expect inside, his past experience only with more sedate crowds. He watched Thorin wave the tickets at the door guy—a mustachioed man with dark eyebrows and a thick braid of hair falling down his back from under a black knit hat. Black tattoos spread heavily up his right arm.

“Bofur!” Thorin exclaimed, slapping the man on the shoulder. “Didn’t think they’d have kept you around after last month’s toss-up. How long was that guy in the hospital?”

The man laughed casually, standing and thumping Thorin with a heavy embrace before taking a seat again and replying in a heavy brogue while attaching a paper loop around Thorin’s wrist. “Two days. Please, they wouldn’t fire their best bouncer. Where would they get another chap so good lookin’? The ladies all show up for me, not the bands, and sure as fuck not the clean bathrooms. And who’ve we got here, eh?” He took Fíli’s hand, feigning misplacing a wrist band and yanking Fíli forward, tucking the blonde’s arm beneath his elbow. 

Fíli’s eyes went wide as he was pulled in close—too close. He felt Bofur’s obliques shift beneath his black “STAFF” shirt, pinning his forearm in place with his elbow fully extended. The grip was tight, professional, and more than a little menacing.

“You lads on a date?” his tone was jovial, but Fíli’s nervousness made all possible responses fly anywhere but through his mouth, mind blank. Was he that obvious? He knew the metal scene’s stigma for being rather gruff, and at times outright violent, but he hadn’t thought he’d be on the receiving end before making it through the door.

Thorin stepped in quickly, chiding his friend. “Ah, let him go, martial arts master. It’s not like that. We’re here to see my nephew and drink your establishment out of business.”

Fíli’s arm came free, but not without a little extra squeeze between the heavily tattooed arm and side of Bofur-the-door-man. He shook his arm out, the elbow joint a bit stiff. At some point a band had been slipped around his wrist and a small green dragon stamped on the back of his hand. Bofur and Thorin continued their banter.

“Please, I work here. And between me and Kilian, this place might as well open its own brewery. You two get inside—you’re holdin’ up my line.”

Fíli, glad to move away from the overly friendly man, scooted inside, taking in the venue’s layout. The ceilings were high, bare beams and air conditioning ducts visible though coated in black paint. Here and there, large pieces were wired to them—motorcycle tires, cattle skulls, and other “Mad Max-ian” flotsam and jetsam.

They waded through a surprisingly thick crowd, Fíli careful to edge around the gruffer looking concert goers. His nervousness had yet to abate, and so an inner monologue had begun rolling through his head.

What the hell am I so anxious for? I’ve been to shows. They won’t have changed in less than a decade. Just chill. Thorin’s going to ask what’s up and you’re going to look like a fuckwit if you tell him you’re freaked out.

For a long moment, Fíli ’s fingers itched for a cigarette—a habit he rarely indulged—and so he moved with a greater purpose to the bar. Moments later he found himself wedged almost chest to chest with Thorin, pressed against the glossy if not a bit sticky, wood of the counter. The darker haired man had gone with a black button up shirt to match his dark, closely fitting, jeans and thick boots. His hair was drawn back in a thick bun at the back of his head and he was in need of a shower, but Fíli didn’t complain as Thorin’s musk wafted over him—a mix of cedar wood, sage, and cigarettes.

“What’re you having?” Thorin shouted over the pounding PA system—there was no band on stage at the moment, but the establishment kept music going as staff and crew carried equipment on and off the large raised platform behind a fence-like barrier.

Fíli snapped out of his Thorin-induced trance and shouted back, “Two shots of Tennessee honey and whatever’s black and on tap!”

Thorin’s eyebrows rose, but he put in the order on a tab—the drinks appeared moments later. “Big start, eh?” but Fíli had already thrown back one of the small servings and was quickly following it with the other, shaking his head as he coughed a bit on the sweet burn at the back of his throat, his blonde mane tossing around his shoulders.

“Well, if you’re buying!” he shouted, not telling his friend that the shots were to burn the nerves out of his gut. As the whisky warmth spread up his neck and cheeks, he knew they were doing their job. “So when is your nephew’s band on?”

Thorin pondered a moment, grabbing his pint as it arrived. “I think he said eleven, so we’ve got some time. Let’s find a spot to post up and people watch. These shows are usually good for it.”

They ambled around the edge of the crowd for a bit, stealing a booth as a solitary man vacated his seat to head to the bar, and pushed the empty glasses and pitcher to the end of the table for pick up. The aggressive poaching of the spot made Fíli uneasy, but with Thorin he at least knew he’d have backup if a fight broke out over it. The blonde sipped his beer, rubber-necking around, and noticed that people were still pouring into the venue.

“Thorin, man. Holy shit! Just who’s headlining tonight that it looks like this?” Fíli shouted. A band had started up, and a man with a curly, acid-green mohawk screamed into his mic—the tempo of the evening’s fare winding up as the crowd formed a small circle in which show goers shoved one another around. Other than that small space in the throng of bodies, there was little area to move in and the level of humidity rose steadily, wafting the smells of spilled beer, sweat, artificial fog, and marijuana through the large room. Fíli tugged at one of his braids as it swung down by his jaw from under the hat. His mind snapped back to the table, however, as he felt a swat at his hand—Thorin had reached over to stop him fidgeting.

“It’s some psychobilly group called ‘Rot-n-Roll’. Dead Elvis stuff. And cut it out. They look good! You’ve got admirers already,” Thorin’s voice was low and teasing—his eyes flicking over at a young woman in a polka dot, A-line dress. Fíli looked over and their eyes met—heat burst in his cheeks as her red slicked lips wrapped around the thin straw in her cocktail. He groaned and planted his eyes firmly on the bottom of his pint glass as he focused on tipping its contents down his throat.

“No?” Thorin asked, eyes sparkling in jest. “There’re plenty of girls here. And I’m sure you won’t have any issues wooing said ladies if you just keep up this nervous puppy dog act. Chicks eat the sensitive shit up these days.”

Fíli rolled his eyes and looked back at the stage, nodding his head to a particularly catchy, if quite heavy, song blasting from the band on stage. He had a feeling he should at least pretend to be interested in Thorin’s suggestions, but after his two shots and half of beer, he couldn’t be arsed.

“Or maybe it’s not the ladies you’re interested in at all…” Thorin’s nimble fingers caught one of the braids again and gave it a gentle tug.

Fíli choked on his beer, the nearly black liquid foaming as he caused it to slosh in the glass. His eyes went wide. Here it was, half an hour after they’d walked through the door and he was going to fight this battle. He’d promised himself years before that he’d never lie about it again—evade, mislead, and hide it, sure—but he’d never outright lie. He wasn’t prepared for this, however, and he sat staring across the table at his friend, a drip of beer on his rough chin. Rather than teasing him further, Thorin reached over and caught the drop on a crooked finger, bringing it to his mouth and licking it off, eyebrows flicking up briefly in approval at the flavor.

“Hm! Good, that,” he spoke nonchalantly.

Fíli sat in shock. Normally, this was the part where he’d slog through difficult to maneuver conversation. He’d explain how his preferences wouldn’t come in the way of a friendship and that it wasn’t a big deal and—his breath started to hitch as his thought train derailed.

“Fíli, man, calm down! I knew! It’s fine!” Thorin attempted to placate the younger man, hands open wide in front of him in a non-threatening gesture.

“You—you knew?” Fíli spluttered, still taken aback.

“Of course! It’s hard not to recognize family.”

“F-family?” Fíli was floored, the man before him seemed so confident in his approach to women that he’d never even considered it.

“Absolutely!” Thorin replied, cocking a short salute with one broad hand at his forehead. “Poly and proud. The hubs is at home tonight—said he prefers arm chairs to mosh pits—and thus let me off my leash and told me to try to bring someone home if I was so inclined. We’re in an open relationship.”  
Fíli sat flabbergasted, taking in all of the new information about his friend. 

“Thorin, all this time I’ve been keeping this in, afraid you’d come at me! I was afraid to go out with you tonight!” Fíli finally admitted to himself and his friend that his earlier nervousness had been related mostly to the high likelihood that he’d come out this evening and potentially end, or at least strain, their friendship. Since moving to the area to live with Dis, he’d made scarce new acquaintances and losing what few he had made prospects of work and social life volatile, at best.

“Damn. Am I that intimidating? I mean, it’s been said before, but…” Thorin trailed off. 

Fíli nodded and tugged at his hoodie zipper for a moment, his cheeks and neck holding the hot flush that seemed ever-present that evening.

“Well, with those stern-ass eyes under pissed off eyebrows, yeah. I’d say so. Plus, what are you, seven feet tall? I wouldn’t stand a chance if you wanted to pound my ass into the floor.”

Thorin laughed heartily, one hand going to aforementioned eyebrows and sweeping up over his hair.

“You’re six feet tall yourself, so have more courage! And did I just hear an offer to be our third tonight? Because we can leave right now if my mission’s over. Or did that sound better in your head than out loud?”

Fíli choked again, but this time in mirth. The tense mood had shifted, immediately allowing for his flirtatious sense of humor to roll over the both of them. He tangled his legs with his friend’s beneath the table in a feeble attempt at kicking him in the shins.

“Your mission? So this wasn’t all about your nephew? You’re here to pick someone up.” He joked, but the thought of what Thorin’s broad chest and back might look like without that dark shirt came unbidden to his imagination and Fíli smiled, rolling his internal eyes at himself. The relief he felt now that Thorin knew of his preferences was immeasurable. He could finally be himself around the man, and it was like releasing a long held breath and sucking in precious oxygen. Fíli hadn’t realized just how much strain the façade had placed on him until it had been stripped away, and he relaxed for what felt like the first time in months.

The two men talked for the duration of the show’s opening acts, ordering several rounds and passively watching the bands on stage. It was only a matter of minutes before Thorin had attracted a handful of young men and women to the table, drawing them in with subtle eye to eye connection, tilts of his head, and once even a clichéd “come hither” finger crook. Some, however, were just clingers-on of Thorin’s targets.

“My god, Thorin, you’re a fiend,” Fíli laughed, watching the man in his element as he drew a young woman with an unusual piercing in the divot below her nose onto his lap, whispering into her ear. He had no idea what Thorin had said, or even how the girl had heard it over the ever intensifying volume of the venue, but she bit her lip and blushed prettily to the roots of her lilac colored hair. 

Soon their table was full, and Fíli had even opened up to the new comers, laughing at the antics of two guys determined to out-do one another in a race to finish two tall cans of beer. It was entirely enjoyable, letting himself go for once, even in a crowd where he felt severely out of place at times. One of the young men stood up, tossing his leaking can through the air and into a large bin near another table, garnering raucous cheers from those who saw the shot. He turned back to the table, but after squinting at the stage he didn’t reclaim his seat.

“Oh, shit! My buddy’s up. See ya, guys. Thanks for the spot.”

Fíli nodded, looking at the large banner that had unfurled across the stage’s backdrop. “Transmutation Castration? What on earth kind of name is that?” Fíli shouted to Thorin, looking over at his friend who was still entertaining the young woman on his lap. His hand lay halfway up her thigh and she was giggling at something he’d just said, but he leaned over to respond to the question.

“The kind that says it’s time to abandon our seats and go have a smoke,” the older man yelled back, patting the girl on the rear to let him up off of the bench. She scowled at Fíli, the obvious cause of her dislodging, but struck up chatting with the remaining few show goers at the table. The blonde grabbed his own tall can, having abandoned the more expensive drinks after he’d gotten a good buzz, and headed to the floor.

Fíli’s height was an advantage while wading through the sea of people as he followed Thorin to a side door leading to the patio he’d seen before—they made it without spilling a drop. Outside, the rain had completely subsided, leaving a damp breeze in its wake, the fresh night air invigorating after the closeness of the venue’s interior. Thorin cupped his hands before him, lighting a cigarette and offering one to Fíli. He hedged for a moment before accepting.

“What the hell,” he shrugged, lighting his own. “I’m at a show, better look the part, right?”

“That’s the spirit!” Thorin said, patting his shoulder roughly and tucking the package back into his shirt pocket.

The two enjoyed a moment of silence, Fíli looking around again at his surroundings. The fence around the patio was short, easy enough to see over, and almost every inch was covered in some kind of vinyl beer advertisement, band sticker, or flyer for upcoming events. One large gate was open, and various sound equipment and instrument-carrying crew members flashed in and out, loading gear for the bands with some help from the members themselves. Fíli recognized Bofur as he argued with the singer with the curly mohawk, rolling a large black amplifier over the patio stones and toward the exit.

“Get this shit out of the way! You’ve been off stage for a fuckin’ hour, you cockbag!” he yelled, tossing a large bundle of cables to the man, who shouted back incoherently but still did as he was told.

Fíli watched the heated exchange for a moment, reminding himself not to get on Bofur’s bad side, before his observations were interrupted.

“Thorin?” came a deep voice from behind them.

Fíli turned his head to see a huge man come up on his right from the interior door. He was broader than Thorin by far, though taller by just an inch or two, and his shaved head was covered in small tattoos that flowed in an arch toward the back of his neck and matched the ones on his fingers and forearms. A faded black t-shirt stretched over his barrel chest, the logo so old it was nearly unreadable, though Fíli thought he could make out two iconic hammers intersected as if walking. He was followed by a thin woman around Fíli’s height, her auburn hair hanging in becoming waves to her hips. Her pale arms were sprinkled with freckles, though the left was covered in an artfully done tattoo of feathers, flowers, and one long and evil looking arrow that began above her elbow and threaded between them all, pointing toward her fingers.

“Dwalin!” Thorin responded, embracing the man much as he had Bofur, with much hearty laughter and enthusiastic shoulder grips and smacks. “And little Tori! Look at you, all grown up!”

“Fuck you, Thorin,” she responded light heartedly, receiving a much gentler hug. “Hey, can I bum one of those?” she asked, tapping the package in his pocket. “We’re up next, and I’ve got some prep yet to do.”  
Thorin handed her the package, lighting her smoke for her as she thrust it out at him from between darkly painted lips. “And who’s this dude?” she asked, looking from Thorin to Fíli, who’d stood quietly by, sipping his beer.

“Tori, this is Fíli, a friend and coworker. Fíli, this angry bitch is Tauriel, and this huge side of well-aged beef—” he blasted the large man’s shoulder with another strong smack, but fluttered his eyelashes at him simultaneously, “is Dwalin. Both are in Kíli’s band.” As he finished this statement he flagged down a waitress, ordering a round of shots to be brought out. 

Dwalin snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh, so it’s Kíli’s band now, is it? I thought we were all in this together. Leave it to the young people to get all the credit when we ancient folk do all the hard work.” His words were tinged with laughter and he winked at Fíli as Tauriel glared at him, pulling hard on the cigarette between her lips. 

“Oh, whatever, old man,” Tauriel teased. “I’m doing my warm up right now and you’re just looming there like some lonely mountain, as always.”

Fíli tilted his head and took another guzzle of his beer, draining it, unsure of what Tauriel was talking about. He’d seen her cracking her knuckles down by her sides, but nothing more overt than that.

“What do you play in the band, Tauriel?” he asked. “You’re popping your joints—guitar or keyboards or something?”

The red head scoffed and took another drag on the cigarette, speaking through the exhaled smoke. “Vocals,” she elaborated, meeting his eyes as she tossed the butt and crushed the glowing cherry under her boot a little more deliberately than was absolutely necessary.

Fíli’s eyebrows climbed up into his hair. He’d not heard of any female fronted metal bands, and with this new information on top of every other unheard of thing he’d encountered that evening, he was nearly in a daze. It may have been the slight head rush from the cigarette, however, so he nodded appreciatively, finishing his, and tucked it into his empty beer can which he snuck into the pile standing on the barrel-turned-table. Thorin had picked up conversation, grilling their companions about the possible presence of music label scouts.

“Have either of you noticed anyone yet? Kilian mentioned that they’d likely be present at this evening’s show. Are you sure it’s going to be Sindarin Records? That’s pretty big time, isn’t it?”

Tauriel nodded, the move becoming a complicated gesture as she had begun a series of massaging motions along her jaw and neck. She aborted the large stretch of her mouth, resembling a yawn with her tongue folded out, as she replied.

“It is. We’re just at the edge of our break, and Kíli agrees. We haven’t seen any suits, but no one in this crowd is particularly conspicuous, you know?” she resumed her stretches, not looking in any particular direction as she twisted her face and mouth. Fíli thought she looked like a mystical dragon in Asian style tattooing—her wide mouth could begin pouring fire at any moment. He hadn’t realized he was staring at her until she met his eyes again, bearing her teeth in what could have been a grin or a snarl. Dwalin engaged Thorin as well, leaving Tauriel to her facial contortion.

“We’re completely fresh tonight. H-Bomb went a little crazy with his tax return and got new DW 5000 series pedals and Remo heads—gone into some Fear Factory mode, he has. Ori probably hasn’t spoken a word that doesn’t sound like a string of Julliard garbage in weeks, and well…you know Kíli. Drunk as a skunk and shredding like fuck. We’ve even got him on dirty vocals finally—he can really growl and it works so well with Tori’s cleans. They’re really buckled into this, and we’ve had a few PR leads that have put us almost in the door at Sindarin. That’s why we’re direct supporter for Leg’s band tonight—Thranduil being his father and all.” Dwalin brushed one broad hand across his head, the tattoos there stretching under his ministrations. “Just gives me a headache, you know? I fuckin’ hate that psychobilly bullshit, but when they’re already on the label because Leg’s dad’s the producer, you have to do a bit of ass kissing.”

Thorin nodded, a pensive look on his face, though Fíli was sure he likely had as little idea what Dwalin was talking about as Fíli did. The brunette perked up momentarily as the waitress returned with the beverages. He tossed some cash onto her tray, more than was necessary even for a tip, and winked at her. She smiled and thanked him, turning away with a toss of her hair and walking off deeper into the dark patio area. Thorin passed each of them a shot, handing a large can of beer and a smaller one of Coke to Fíli to set aside.

“Whisky for luck, then,” he said, raising his small glass. “Slainte!” They downed their servings, and Fíli recognized the sweet burn at the back of his throat and hummed appreciatively, but mentally made a note that he likely needed to stop drinking before too long, or else Thorin would be carrying him to the car later. 

It was then that a quick burst of whistling came from Dwalin’s pocket, and he reached in and pulled out a blinking cell phone.

“That’s us,” he said, turning off the screen and stuffing the device back into the denim that stretched over his massive thighs. “H-Bomb’s load in’s finished, let’s go Tori. See you after the show, then. Nice meeting you, Fíli.”

Fíli nodded, shaking the proffered hand. Dwalin’s calloused palm nearly engulfed his. “Likewise,” he replied.

“Melt some faces, or whatever it is you say,” Thorin called, stacking the small glasses as the two musicians headed inside.

Fíli leaned against the barrel table, watching their retreating backs. He looked to Thorin, who cracked the soda open and guzzled its contents. 

“Pacing myself!” he explained, seeing Fíli’s single raised eyebrow. “You, on the other hand, need to keep drinking. I have yet to see you cut loose!” He popped the tab on the tall-boy, pressing it into the blonde’s hand. Fíli laughed, blowing air through his lips in a sigh as he wrapped his fingers around the cold aluminum cylinder.

“Thorin, if I keep going at this rate, I’ll piss myself away when I finally break the seal.” He took several gulps of the beverage, however, placating his friend and enjoying the tingle that spread over his neck and arms as he passed over the ‘buzzed’ threshold. Fíli noticed then that the patio was quickly emptying of its crowd and he turned back to Thorin. “Should we head back in?” he asked, gesturing vaguely toward the flyer-coated door where another bouncer stood.

Thorin nodded, but rather than returning to their table, he headed straight toward the floor where the show goers pressed against one another. He looked to Fíli, a wicked smile on his face. 

“You ready for this, love?” 

Fíli’s eyebrows rose again, immediately understanding that they weren’t going to be passive bystanders this time around. He hesitated, eyeing the crowd that seemed to grow more congested by the moment before giving a pleading look to his friend, who shook his head.

“Not getting out of it. If we’re at the show, we have to participate at least for Kíli’s slot. Come on, you’ll love it once you let go, just don’t get sucked into the pit if you can help it. And if you do, just go with it and try not to die. Shove around, throw an elbow, break a jaw, it’s all fun, and you’ll get massive points with this scene if you bleed a bit.” The older man placed his hand under Fíli’s drink can, raising it to his friend’s mouth. “And you might want to finish this before you get in there, or you’ll be wearing it. Or, more likely, I will, and then you never know what will happen. I really…” his wicked smile disappeared, and he narrowed his eyes. Fíli knew that look; he’d seen it once at work before Thorin lost his cool and had to leave for the day. “…really hate being spilled on.”

Fíli balked, but opened his lips, sucking down almost twenty ounces the amber liquid in a flash and letting out a rather terrifying belch that surprised even himself. Thorin threw his head back, laughing hard.

“Oh my god, the look on your face. You’re absolutely polluted. Come on, love, let’s go.” 

Fíli tossed his can and it bounced off the rim of the trash, landing somewhere behind it on the sticky floor, but he didn’t care enough this time around to pick it up. His body was loose and face almost too warm--his level of drunkenness just enough that a belligerent streak came out in him. He linked his elbow through Thorin’s arm, taking the lead into the crowd.

“I’m not drunk, you’re drunk. And since when do you call me ‘love’, you Irish fuck?” he shouted over the heads of those around them. 

Thorin didn’t reply, but they waded deep into the crowd, stepping on a few feet. Fíli, overly warm, yanked off his beanie and stuffed it into his hoodie pocket, uncaring of what fellow show goers thought of the braids now loosely woven at the sides of his head. Finally, the two men managed to wedge themselves near the barrier, someone’s elbow in Fíli ’s hip and Thorin turned nearly sideways as he swung his arm over the fence, hanging on tight to lay claim to their new space. He snatched Fíli’s arm, shoving the blonde in front of him, Fíli’s chest against the barrier and Thorin’s tight against his back. Fíli would normally have been entirely uncomfortable with this development, strangers touching him and Thorin close enough that he could feel his breath on his neck and his belt buckle on his hip, but the beer and whisky had done their job and his inhibitions had all but taken flight 30 minutes prior. He gritted his teeth and felt a tight grin slide over them as he finally stood firm at the fence. 

A niggling feeling cropped up in the back of Fíli’s mind, however. He’d been to indie shows, and though the crowd may not have been so fiercely physical, he absolutely knew that unless the band was big, it never filled a space like this. He craned his neck to the right, attempting to get a look at the crowd over Thorin’s broad shoulder. There were faces as far as he could see, right up to the bar in the back of the venue, and security was attempting to remove some younger patrons from the pillars alongside the floor—people were climbing up to get a better look at the stage. Fíli took a look at it himself. A rather impressive drum kit stood at the back, while two guitar racks stood at either side of the stage, each holding three or four of the instruments. Two microphones stood at the front, but as of yet, there were no band members on stage, just a few crew taping off cables and scurrying backstage. Fíli’s eyebrows drew in and he looked left, his nose nearly brushing Thorin’s jaw.

“Thorin!” he yelled, “Just who the fuck is your nephew anyway? What’s the band?”

Before Thorin could answer, however, a banner dropped from the catwalk above the stage, concealing the instruments that had been strategically placed on the platform. A huge cheer went up from the crowd and Fíli felt bodies press ever tighter around him. He was well and truly stuck to the barrier, and even his drunk mind wondered at the survival rates of newbies at metal shows as the air thickened with artificial fog that rolled over the floor of the stage.

The house lights dimmed as several spot beams flickered to life, pointing at the vinyl banner that held only the logo of the Green Dragon—a fire breathing reptile with raised wings twisted around a stylized Viking-type shield. More lights, orange this time, flickered over the banner like flames. Slowly, rhythmic slams of a drum kit being sound checked rang out from behind the curtain, picking up pace as combinations of sound were tested. Fíli’s teeth rattled as a bass drop shook the very air around him, causing more roars from the crowd that quickly ramped up behind him. Thorin pressed tightly against his back, reaching both arms around Fíli and holding tight to the top of the barrier—Fíli could count the bumps in the man’s knuckles and his own excitement bubbled out of his lips in a nervous laugh that dispersed the crushing feeling of the bass from his lungs.

Bass guitar was next, and Fíli tried to follow a complicated set of tapped notes that rippled over the hidden amplifiers. It was followed by two guitars, low riffs chugging out first before a set of terrifyingly complicated sweeps that raised the hairs on the back of Fíli’s neck. 

“That’ll be Kíli and Dwalin!” Thorin yelled to him, “Tori will come next. You’re absolutely going to shit your pants when you hear her!”

A high, clean voice howled out from the microphone, harshing out into a guttural scream that made Fíli think of blood and murder. It was no wonder she’d included several cigarettes in her warming up. His eyes were wide, staring at the banner, as another voice responded to hers. He felt Thorin cock his head hard behind his shoulder.

“That’s…not Tori,” the man stammered.

Through the second mic, a low growl had begun, slowly, impossibly rising in volume until Fíli was sure that there had to be an actual dragon behind the vinyl. There was no conceivable way that a human throat was producing the sound that roared out long and loud. It rang in his ears and his heart slammed hard in his chest, making his face burn all the hotter. Whatever had made that sound grabbed onto Fíli’s volition, drove him somehow, and he roared back with the rest of the crowd, nearly hurting himself in his efforts. Slowly the elongated growl from the stage turned into the word “Check!” as it died away.

There was silence for a moment, and then a recording came over the speakers. The sounds of coursing wind, like a hurricane, paired with gusts from vents at the stage blasted Fíli’s hair back, and soon screams of terror and destruction melded in. The claustrophobic feel of the venue grew, fog rolling along the floor and over his head, the heat from the lights palpable on his skin, and Fíli felt as though when the curtain fell, that there could be nothing but an absolute pillaging raging behind it. 

“We,” came Tauriel’s voice suddenly, dark and lovely.

“Are,” rumbled the deep voice from before—Fíli ’s breath caught in his chest, he leaned forward, the crushing mob and even Thorin behind him nothing but background noise to the irrepressible desire to lay eyes on the creature from which that sound throbbed.

“DRAGON DESOLATION!” the two voices roared together.

The banner fell, more hot hair bursting from the vents, and Fíli’s gaze inexplicably locked with the dark eyes of the young guitarist, fully black orbs that lay within a rictus of furious brows and sharp-toothed snarl. He held a black guitar with entirely too many strings low on his hips, his feet spread wide over the stage.

And that was all Fíli knew before the venue erupted and nearly pulled him off his feet.


	3. On the Praxis of Death Growling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili is swept off his feet more than once during his time at The Green Dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: This chapter mentions a lot of drinking, smoking, and light drug use (marijuana).

Fíli worked hard to hold his ground in the crowd, but it seemed nearly impossible. The moment the music started, guitar riffs screaming from the amps and drumbeats splitting the air, it seemed as though everything, even the very floor underneath his feet, had become a hot, writhing, avalanche of bodies. But hold on he did with Thorin’s arms still bracketing his shoulders despite the heavy thrashing of those around him, it was easier than it could have been otherwise. 

Fíli locked his eyes on the stage, taking in the scene. The drumming, nearly painful in its intensity, made him blink with each heavy beat. A large man sat behind the kit, thick arms moving at varying speeds over every head and hat. His feet, or what Fíli could see of them, were a blur as the double pedal smashed its staccato rhythm onto the bass. His black t-shirt, emblazoned with a band logo Fíli couldn’t make out, was stretched over an impressive chest and a round stomach, but Fíli was drawn, however, to the thick, ginger beard that hung down from below bared teeth to nearly his chest, fluttering with blasts from the surrounding vents. The large man was a moving mountain, and Fíli found himself nodding his head and shoulders to the beat he drove. Thorin matched his movements, and all discomfort had fled Fíli’s consciousness, even with the tight press of their bodies. He was drunk and loving the show, trying to keep an eye on every motion on stage without making himself dizzy. 

Dwalin stood to the left, a calm look on his face as his large hands barred chords, banging his head hard to the progression. It wasn’t long into the set before Fíli noticed sweat darkening the collar of the faded shirt he wore. The song reached a crescendo and Fíli’s eyes widened as the man, who’d only recently complained of his ancient status, threw himself into full body bucks and head bangs, setting one of his booted feet up onto the platform where the drums sat. Fíli tore his gaze from Dwalin’s movements as an elbow dug hard into his side beneath the protection of Thorin’s forearm. He elbowed back, feeling completely justified as the offending appendage disengaged from his ribs—he heard Thorin’s deep laugh near his ear.

“Do I even need to hang on to you? Seems like you’ve gotten the hang of things pretty quickly!” the dark haired man shouted.

Fíli laughed as well, and gently nudged the same elbow back into Thorin’s solid stomach. 

“I’m not going to tell anyone you were petrified of a pointy-elbowed metalhead!” Fíli replied loudly, teasing his friend. “If you need to keep hanging on to me to feel better, then I’ll just pretend like you’re protecting me from the crowd! No one has to know you’re so close that I can’t decide if what’s pressing into my ass is your belt or your cock!”

Thorin roared another laugh, but in the midst of the thrashing crowd he pressed in a little tighter. Fíli knew the grind against him was almost like a game of chicken—how far would he let his friend take this? The man’s breath was hot on his neck, raising goosebumps down the skin of his shoulders and back. 

“What do you think it is now?” he heard, the growl so smooth it could have crawled into his ear, lived there, and laid eggs without Fíli’s minding it one bit.

“It’s definitely an invitation I can’t accept! Prior obligations!” the blond responded, nudging himself a little off of Thorin’s center. The movement freed him from the tight press, but he almost regretted it. Slapping his drunk libido down, he craned his neck to look at his friend again, pulling a face at the man, who returned the expression jovially, giving Fíli a “Well, I have to try” shrug. Good, Fíli thought, no hurt feelings. Even in his state, he still worried about his friend’s perception of him, but as the song came to an end, his attention was drawn back to the stage.

Tauriel stood at the front, pushing the microphone back into the stand from where she’d removed it earlier to jump and thrash around the stage.

“Are you all havin’ a good time?!” she rasped loudly, pointing at the crowd with one arm as she wiped sweat from her pale brow with the other. Her auburn hair shimmered in the lights as they swept from behind her to point at the crowd, the mass of which screamed and howled a response to her question, bathed in bright blue light. 

Fíli, however, was distracted by the dark guitar player again. He roved his eyes over the musician’s figure—a band t-shirt, splashed with a screen printed blood spray, hung on his frame, the hem cutting off at his hips where dark jeans began. His jaw was sharp, covered in a rough looking stubble; it was too reminiscent of Thorin for the guitarist not to be the nephew he’d mentioned as the catalyst for their attending this show. The dark hair was the same as well, hanging in loose waves down to the bottom of his shoulder blades, tangled from swinging the mass around in impressive fan-like motions. From up on stage he appeared a giant, though Fíli could tell the man was shorter even that Tauriel as he flicked his eyes to the red headed woman who continued to yell into her microphone.

“Before we keep going, let’s give a big hand to The Green Dragon and crew for havin’ us here at home tonight!” she yelled, mouth wide and white teeth flashing. The crowd howled again, the other members of the band muting strings and rolling drums, giving their own version of applause in thanks. The bassist, the least threatening looking of the group with his short brown hair and clean shaven face, tapped out another rhythm on his strings, but quickly cut the motion short as he sipped a bottle of water, setting it back on the amplifier from where he’d grabbed it.

Fíli stared at the band as a whole, now. They seemed to complement one another, not following any kind of overdone theme or bordering on anything stereotypical that could have distracted the audience from their music. Their chemistry was amazing, and they seemed to function so coherently that they could all have been family. Fíli drew his gaze again to the guitarist, however, as the man directly addressed Tauriel through the microphone.

“Tori, what’d’you say we give somethin’ a little lower, eh?”

Fíli’s breath caught in his throat at the sound of that voice. It was nearly as deep as Thorin’s, an Irish brogue licking the edges and leaving Fíli with a tightness in his gut that had nothing to do with the amount of alcohol he’d consumed that evening. The black eyes—contacts, Fíli thought—lingered on the red head at the mic, and he flashed that sharp toothed smile again, the set of prosthetics looking almost too natural in the Irishman’s mouth. Tauriel laughed, nodding, and the guitarist licked his lips, adjusting the guitar strap on his shoulder as he reached for a beer on the floor near his microphone.

“Whatever you want, short stuff,” she laughed, “I guess the rest of us are just a bit too high up here for you.”

The guitarist scowled, but then roved his eyes over the crowd, searching. Suddenly, the black gaze landed directly on Fíli and Thorin, and the man gave a wink to his uncle, his eyes faltering a bit over Fíli’s face unsure of the identity of the blonde standing in the arms of his relative. Fíli blinked and the gaze was gone, pointing, much as his own had earlier, at the bottom of the cup, draining it of its contents. He swung his guitar back around, tossing the plastic cup into the crowd, droplets of beer flying through the air and shining as they were caught in the beams of light.

“Not short where it counts, mate,” he growled into the microphone, planting his guitar on his pelvis and pointing the end of it out into the crowd. Fili bit his lip, cheeks burning as the Irishman thrust his hips once with surety, stepping on a pedal near the monitor speakers, and laying his fingers over the pickups to chug a few notes out of the instrument-turned-phallus.

A wave of screams came up from the women in the crowd in the crowd—Fíli recognized the lavender haired girl who was yelling out to his right, her eyes also fixed on the young man as he growled into the microphone again, the rest of the band joining him in the throbbing beat that tore through the air, making Fíli’s ears ring and crackle. “Why don’t you pussies open up that fuckin’ pit?” the man shook the neck of his guitar at the crowd, wavering the sound. “Get ready for some aural torture, because this one’s called ‘Dungeons Deep’,” he drew the last syllable out into a roar, and the stage exploded once more into lights and smoke, strobes making the atmosphere nearly opaque.

Fíli knew in a moment that this song carried something different, something destructive in its notes. The tempo notched up, but the low timbre thrummed in his body like a tidal wave. The press of the crowd and Thorin around him grew exponentially, shifting and grabbing, sucking him to the right and left. Fíli looked over his friend’s shoulder to see a pool of show goers slowly forming a jumping, spinning, pit of bodily mayhem. As the song picked up, so did their movements, but his vision was instantly cut out as a wave of beer splashed up behind Thorin, blinding him as is rolled over the taller man’s shoulder and neck, a few drops landing on Fíli’s face and in his eyes. It was sudden, and as Fíli wiped at his eyes he felt his friend grow stiff. 

“Thorin?” he called loudly, but it was too late. The brunette immediately let go of the barrier, charging deep into the fray. Fíli’s eyes widened as he watched his friend throwing a few elbows and shoving hard, disappearing quickly from view. He stood alone at the barrier now, so Fíli threw an arm over the rail, holding himself in place as he was pummeled, but it was too late. One missed step, and Fíli was sucked into the whirling pit. He thanked the gods for his height at that moment, allowing himself to be pushed with the flow of the bodies around him all the while sparing his face from any of the blows that rained carelessly on his arms, chest, and back. Fíli looked around frantically for Thorin, but before he knew what was happening, one particularly hard shove sent him out of the edge of the group and into the calmer, standing members of the crowd. It took him a moment, but Fíli caught his breath and headed toward the back of the crowd as quickly as he could, rather than trying to make it back to the barrier. 

As he reached the bar, he put a can of soda on Thorin’s tab and hopped up on a recently vacated stool. Fíli realized he was shaking a tad, the adrenaline from the pit leaking throughout his body—he clenched and unclenched his jaw, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth and chewing it thoughtfully. As he leaned back on the bar and sipped at his Coke, Fíli couldn’t take his eyes off the stage. The figures upon it were smaller now, but the music was no quieter, nor less energetic. He watched the young guitarist move about the platform, his jeans loosely tucked into dark boots that stomped over the cables and tape on the floor. He cut a striking figure, prowling like he was—for there was no other word for that slinking powerful movement—and Fíli sat in wonder of how this person could command the massive throng of people the way he did. It was like watching a warlock stirring up a cauldron of acid, the crowd boiling beneath those hard black eyes and whirling hair. His face flushed hot as he remembered the wink that had been cast in his direction and the tightness in in stomach returned, making him shift on his seat.

Fíli felt mildly embarrassed for a moment—like a teenage girl swooning over her favorite boy band—but he couldn’t stop thinking about the guitarist. About his roaring voice, the slow growls, the muscles of his forearms standing out as he twisted his wrist around the neck of his guitar to rip a progression of notes so fast and high that Fíli could only compare them to screams of anguish. For one song in particular, he played a beaten looking guitar with a thick neck and seven strings—it was in these moments, when he crouched and hung that long hair in front of his face, that Fíli knew nothing but the hammer blows of sound on his eardrums, the burning of strobe lights in his vision, and the eerie throb he felt deep in his stomach. Fíli could barely comprehend the way the music affected him—it made him jittery, half aroused, or even ready for some imagined battle at any given moment.

The blond sat for several more songs, staring intently at the incredible group. Their theatrics were on par with any of the huge live shows that Fíli had caught online, and the music brought to life a thrill in his chest that he’d not experienced since the first time he’d been kissed back in his high school days. Fíli felt nearly cheated from the experience, however, as a large, heavily muscled man in a denim vest stood in front of him, blocking his view of the stage.

“Hey, asshole, want to get the fuck off the bar?” the man said, pushing his face into Fíli’s.

Fíli could smell the man’s rank breath, beer and bad hygiene wafting over his skin. He wrinkled his nose and drew back, looking down at the man. It seemed that the upcoming battle was less imagined than he’d previously assumed.

“Excuse me?” Fíli asked belligerently, drawing himself up off his stool. Part of him was a jabbering mess, but this nervous creature was buried under too much alcohol and not enough patience for stupid, brutish characters who couldn’t be arsed to floss their teeth. The man reached out to grab hold of Fíli’s hoodie and shirt, yanking him forward and down closer to his face.

“You fuckin’ heard me. Move, bitch, or I’ll fuckin’ make you,” he raised a fist to strike.

Before Fíli had a chance to react, however, another hand was descending onto the larger man’s shoulder. 

“I’d like to see you fuckin’ try it, asswipe,” came Thorin’s deep voice, cold and threatening as he leaned in. “Let go of him, or I’ll kill you where you fucking stand.”

Thorin stood behind the man, his hand tight on the meaty shoulder. His lip had a small cut in it that he’d wiped clean, a barely visible streak of blood stretching from the corner of his mouth across his chin. His black shirt had been pulled open, buttons missing, exposing a large expanse of dark haired, muscular chest and beer soaked undershirt. Several lengths of hair had come loose from their tie and hung in his face—he cut a rather intimidating figure, wild eyes narrowed at the intruder, who shrugged his shoulder hard to free it from Thorin’s grip. He clearly didn’t appreciate the threat, but the situation had escalated so quickly with Thorin’s return that it had thrown him off balance.

“What the fuck ever, man. Just get out of the way of the bar, okay?” he said with far less bravado in the face of the tall brunette, releasing Fíli’s shirt with a small shove.

Fíli rolled his eyes and elbowed past the man, freeing his space at the bar. Thorin jerked his head toward the side door and Fíli found himself following him through the crowd again. He immediately accepted the cigarette offered to him as they stepped through the sticker covered door onto the patio. Both men were silent, fuming and smoking, but as they met each other’s eyes they broke into a bout of hysterical laughter that drew some skeptical attention from patrons sitting at a high top table off to the side.

As their laughter died away, Fíli took in his friend’s appearance again—the blood, torn shirt, and scraped knuckles.

“Jesus, Thorin. What happened to you?” he asked, reaching forward to brush some grit from the man’s shoulder. “I saw you get pulled into the pit, but I lost you right after.”

Thorin shook his head, dragging hard on his cigarette and breathing deep, releasing the smoke in thick cloud.

“That’s about the gist of it,” he said nonchalantly, as if he didn’t look like he’d been putting boot to ass for the past 45 minutes. “I just really fucking hate getting spilled on. And anyway, what happened to YOU, you sly little fucker? I didn’t think you’d be the one getting into fights tonight!” he chucked Fíli lightly on the shoulder. “I thought that guy was going to feed you his ham-sized fist. Guys like that are dangerous unless you show them you’re a bigger threat first. You know he’d have had you shitting those ugly rings he was wearing in a hospital bed pan, right? Or are you more of a tough guy than you let on?”

“Hey,” Fíli balked, “I wasn’t the one that flat out threatened to kill a man in front of witnesses!” He’d begun to shiver again, the long muscles on the front of his thighs clenching irregularly. Damned adrenaline, he thought, as he pulled on the cigarette, relishing in its calming effect. He took mental stock of himself as he stood there, wiggling his toes in his boots and bending his knees. Fíli patted his pockets, finding everything that he’d arrived at the show with still where he’d put it. He hung the cigarette from his lips as he jammed his hat back on over his hair, the blond locks remarkably untangled thanks to Dís’ braiding, though a mess he’d prefer to cover nonetheless. 

“Sometimes you’ve gotta get your point across quickly, and with people like that, the bigger the point the better. By the way, I’m not exactly hearing a ‘thank you for saving my stupid ass, Thorin. I’ll do anything to anything to repay you. Please tear my clothes and have your way with me, oh mighty savior!’ but I feel like I should be hearing those things for, you know, saving your ass,” Thorin shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette on the barrel table. He lit another straight afterwards and hung it in his lips while he leaned back, raking his fingers back through his hair as he shook it out, tying it back in its band again. But for the little streak of blood and lingering smell of beer, Thorin was looking all but respectable again.

Fíli nodded, laughing. “Thanks. How about I just owe you one? Maybe someday you’ll need some saving yourself.”

“No, no,” Thorin shook his head. “It’s naked or nothing. I’m not one for finding myself the damsel in distress.”

Fíli blushed. His friend’s flirtatious nature, though not entirely unwelcome, was definitely coming on thick, and if Fíli wasn’t careful, he’d give in to the charisma that radiated from the rogue figure before him, inevitably putting himself in a situation he’d regret in the morning. He took a step back and changed the subject.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a smile. “So that was one hell of a show, right? Or am I not experienced enough to know what’s good and what isn’t? Your nephew is the guitarist then?”

“Yes to all of the above. They’ve progressed pretty impressively in the last two years or so. Not to toot the family horn, but I think it’s mostly been on Kíli’s part. Tori has always had that great set of pipes on her, and you can only be so amazing when you’ve gone to school for music as long as Ori has. Kíli just has that soul the group needs—he’s like their glue, you know? And he’s sacrificed a lot to play for them on top of it. They’ve nearly fallen apart a few times, but he’s just got this knack for finding the right show to play, even if they have to travel out of state. They end up drawing all of these people from all over when they actually play here at home, and when the crowd packs the venue, it puts good word out. It’s been his strategy for a while and it’s really paying off now what with this Sindarin records possibility,” Thorin sniffed, thumbing his nose. “I’m actually really proud of the kid. He’s had it pretty tough the last decade or so.”

Fíli nodded, surprised that Thorin could turn his mind on a dime toward more serious subjects than getting into Fíli’s pants. He looked off into the dark sky, his cheeks cooling in the night air as memories of the show and that dark haired guitarist rolled through his head. By the time he looked back, Thorin had flagged down the waitress again. He moved to object to the order of another beer, but it was too late.

“We’ve got another few hours to kill, you’ll be fine,” Thorin persuaded, checking his phone for the time. As soon as he said this, the larger side door opened and equipment was being rolled out of the venue. Dwalin was shoving an amplifier across the stones out toward the parking lot.

“Need some help?” Thorin called, but Dwalin waved a wide hand and shook his head, evidently only the tip of the equipment moving train. More crew came out behind him with their materials and instruments. The drummer had tossed a massive steel rack over his shoulder like it barely weighed anything, heading out behind Dwalin. Fíli watched intently, taking the can of beer that Thorin held out to him as the waitress returned. It was only a few moments before Tauriel was out the door as well. She held a cigarette in her lips and loops of cable around her shoulders and chest like a belt made for war. She spied the two men and held up a finger, signaling that they’d be joined in a moment.

Fíli blinked, sipping the beer as slowly as humanly possible. It had been about an hour since he’d shotgunned the previous one, but he was still feeling it in the looseness of his shoulders and elbows. Much more, and things were going to get embarrassing, he thought. His introspection was stemmed for a moment as Dwalin returned, bringing with him the thick drummer and bassist from the group. The drummer was drenched in sweat, and Fíli could see steam rolling off of his back through the damp t-shirt in the darkness of the patio. The bassist, however, was quiet, reserved even. His hair remained as well placed as it had been when the show had started, but he’d donned a hoodie over this red t-shirt, the eyes of some cartoon character with severely spiked hair peeking over the nearly closed zipper. They set their drinks on the table, pulling up some stools from around the patio.

“Okay, introduction time!” Dwalin spoke loudly, pulling the ashtray across to himself to flick the ash off his cigarette.

Fíli sat stunned. He was surrounded by the musicians that had held him captive less than half an hour previously. The feeling of nervous excitement bubbled up in him again as he sat through the rounds of names and wondered if the dark haired guitarist would be joining them as well. He tugged at his hoodie strings, twirling the knotted ends between this fingertips. 

“Guys, this is Thorin’s friend Fíli,” Dwalin gestured. “This is Orion…” 

The small bassist leaned forward, reaching out an arm corded with thin, tight muscle and clasping Fíli’s hand. Fíli was surprised at the strength beneath the calloused fingers. “Just Ori, please,” he said softly as Dwalin continued with the names. 

“And this is Harvey Bombur. Or H-Bomb as we like to call him, since he’s always dropping bombs on his kit.” 

The drummer shook Fíli’s hand as well, but his own greeting was cut short as Tauriel and Kíli strolled up, the guitarist’s arm looped lazily around the woman’s waist. Seeing the casual way the couple touched, Fíli felt an unusual pang in his chest, but the feeling disintegrated as the deep voice from on stage burst from behind lips Fíli couldn’t stop staring at. 

“And in the bathroom. Marymotherofgod, Bomb, what did the establishment do to deserve that?!” cried the Irishman as he took his seat, the buttons of his black denim jacket clacking where they brushed against the barrel top. “They’ll never have us back!”

Bombur laughed heartily, his beard and belly shaking in time with one another, and pointed a set of finger guns at the guitarist, making a clicking sound with his tongue. The group laughed raucously, setting down drink after drink as they’d been followed by a waitress with a large tray.

“Brew’s on the house, tonight!” came Bofur’s voice from behind them. “Boss was impressed with the draw. You really killed it!”

Despite the startup of loud conversation between the band members, Fíli sat transfixed, looking from person to person as they discussed the more technical aspects of the performace. Again the feeling of being too out of place tried to climb its way up his spine, making him quiet amongst the friends, but the guitarist let go of Tauriel and leaned toward the blonde, hand outstretched.

“Saw you in there with Thorin,” he stated, his brogue smooth and deep. “Thanks for coming out tonight. I’m Kílian, but call me Kíli, alright? Good to meet you, mate!”

“Ph-Phillip,” Fíli stammered. “But Fíli for short. In fact, really just forget that I told you my full name. That would be better. And I’m happy to be here. The show was amazing, I mean honestly I haven’t seen anything like that in my life. You guys really rocked!” Fíli could sense himself starting to ramble and gush, overly excited to meet the band and still on the left side of drunk. If he didn’t drink, however, he would speak, and at this point he felt that it may be more conducive to stay silent if he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the man. He leaned over to Thorin, gesturing to his mouth with two fingers, and the older man handed him another cigarette.

The group attracted a small crowd before too long, and tray after tray of alcohol was brought to the table. Fíli felt uncomfortably pinned in, and as more seats were added, he found himself nearly rubbing elbows with Kíli, who had stood up to give the spot to a young woman in fishnets. Fíli contributed where he could, chatting animatedly with Ori for a while about the time he’d spent at Julliard and watching the musicians field question after question, sometimes signing a t-shirt or CD. After an hour or so of non-stop conversation, chain smoking, and dodging drinks pressed at him, he needed to give his spinning head a break, and offered up his stool as well. The young woman with lavender hair had returned, and eagerly took up the spot next to Thorin, clearly interested in reminding the man that she existed in burning sexual capacity. 

“Takin’ off, mate?” came a voice from behind him as he walked a few feet away from the group to stretch his legs.

Fíli startled, nearly stumbling as he turned. His blue eyes lit on Kíli’s dark ones, the black contacts having been removed, leaving behind a clear hazel gaze.

“N-no, well sort of, I—uh…” Fíli cursed inwardly. He was stammering again, mangling his thoughts as he attempted to sound as relaxed as Kíli looked, but he somehow managed to take a deep, steadying breath before finishing his statement. “Just stretching my legs. Was hoping I could hit up that vintage cigarette vending machine inside, since I seem to have bummed most of Thorin’s. Heh, and I was supposed to have quit…”

Kíli’s eyebrows piqued, and he suddenly fished deep in the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a battered package of his own. “I’ve got you. You don’t mind rollies, do you?” he offered one of the hand-rolled cigarettes to Fíli. Fíli shook his head with a noncommittal shrug, and took one, putting it to his lip before searching his pockets for the lighter that he’d picked up from the table. Before he could get to it, however, Kíli held out a flaming zippo behind a cupped hand, touching the flame to the end of Fíli’s cigarette before flicking the cap closed with a metallic clank and tucking it back into his pocket as he pursed his lips around the paper. For a moment, Fíli took a deeper look at the man. He was, in fact, much shorter than Fíli—at least by half a foot. The blond could easily see over his head, but what he lacked in height he made up for in lithe muscle. He wasn’t large, like Dwalin, but Fíli could tell he was solidly built. He had obviously brushed the tangles out of his mass of dark hair, the waves tumbling down his shoulders and back attractively. Fíli found himself wondering what it would be like to bury his face in that hair, running his hands through the soft lengths—

Kíli suddenly looked back to him and Fíli felt his cheeks grow hot as he was caught staring. The guitarist was so close he could smell the artificial fog scent that had settled in his clothes, reminding him of the intense display of talent he’d shown on stage so recently. The blonde had no idea what he’d even begin to talk about with this man—his life suddenly seemed so boring. He worked at a grocery store, had a half-finished college degree, couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up his sketchbook or pencils. Sure, he took some photos here and there, but it was more of a hobby than anything else. Before he could yammer about any of these things, however, Kíli opened up first, catching Fíli’s gaze again.

“So you enjoyed the show, you said?”

Fíli exhaled the breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding and nodded his head, this time able to respond coherently. He tried playing it cool, despite the screaming fanboy that was clambering to get out from inside him through his traitorous mouth. 

“I did, yeah. You play really well,” he said calmly. Then more bluntly: “How the fuck do you make that sound with your throat?”

Kíli laughed, the sound making Fíli’s hairs stand on end. It was warm and full of true mirth, not teasing aimed at his admittedly silly question. He shrugged his denim clad shoulders, blowing out a thin trail of smoke.

“It’s all from the guts, really. I’m not sure I could explain it so well. It’s like, you just open up this…” he made a cutting motion with his cigarette holding hand just in front of his diaphragm. “But you still have to squeeze your throat, like…” Kíli blew out a breath, and Fíli could tell that the guitarist wasn’t happy with his explanation. Kíli suddenly reached forward, grabbing on to Fíli’s free hand. “Here, just…” he pressed Fíli’s open palm and fingers to a spot on his stomach over his t-shirt, just below his sternum, holding it there with his own hand flat atop. Startled by the forward physical contact, Fíli tried drawing back, but froze as he felt that low rumble build up from inside the shorter man. It vibrated his entire chest and up into Fíli’s arm almost pleasantly, but the sound that came from the parted lips was the same terrifying growl as before, though markedly quieter without the microphone. Kíli moved his hand, sliding it up his chest to rest on his throat where the vibration became concentrated. He felt the muscles there shift, and as the growl faded, Kíli’s pulse pressed up against his fingertips, a lazy beat under the quick dip of a swallow.

Fíli left his fingers against the man’s warm skin a fraction of a second longer before drawing away, sliding his hand reluctantly from under Kíli’s. His heart raced in his chest—he couldn’t quite read the situation, and was shocked to silence, taking a few swallows of his own before he could speak.

“It—it doesn’t hurt to do that? It must take a lot of practice.”

Kíli nodded a bit, his hands deep in his coat pockets, pulling the fabric out before him. Fíli eyed several patches along its chest and sleeves, each some band name or gruesome image—one in particular a heavily detailed scene of a beheading via chainsaw. The guitarist followed up his nod with an answer. “Dwalin’s just got me doing it recently—he’s loads better at it than I am. Says I need to keep my face at the front though, so he won’t do it himself.” He shrugged again, casting his eyes around the patio, resting them on the group of chatting fans amongst his bandmates. “So, how do you know Thorin?”

Fíli sighed, grateful for the easily answered question. His senses were still tingling from the touch of Kíli’s hand on his and anything more complicated might have left him a tongue tied mess again.

“He’s a friend from work. I just moved to town a few months ago, and he’s sort of taken me in, since apparently I looked like a sad stray puppy back in January,” Fíli responded with a gentle scoff.

Kíli snorted. “You still resemble one, sort of. Metal’s not really your scene, is it? I haven’t noticed you around here before. I mean, I know I travel a lot, but the faces usually stay the same around here. I know I’d remember you.”

Fíli shook his head, raising his shoulders sheepishly. He was quickly relaxing, though it may have been due to the booze and strength of the unfiltered cigarette. However, there was something about the guitar player that put him at ease, a calm that was starkly different from the effervescence of his stage personality.

“You’re right about that one,” Fíli replied, flicking the end of his smoke away and pushing his hands into his pockets. “Thorin cornered me at work and asked me to come. It’s not that I don’t like metal, I mean, especially after tonight. It’s just that I’d never really listened to much before. The scene’s always been this heavy, hard thing and when a guy’s new in town and runnin’ from the law, it’s good to keep a low profile.”

Kíli blinked once, then again, furrowing his brow before catching the joke and throwing his head back in a laugh. He chucked Fíli lightly in the shoulder, and the blonde was again reminded of Thorin. The two relatives must have been close for their idiosyncrasies to rub off on one another so completely, he thought.

“I can’t believe you just fit that right into conversation. It was so deadpan. Absolutely flawless execution,” Kíli wheezed between laughs. When he recovered he ran a hand through his long hair and Fíli couldn’t help but be distracted by the sight. “I like you, mate. Fíli right?”

Fíli nodded, heat glowing on his cheeks again, flattered that the guitarist had remembered his name.

“Yeah, Fíli. It’s—well I mean it’s kind of like yours.”

Kíli stopped a moment, cocking his head slightly to one side. Fíli feigned rubbing at his eyes for a moment in order to avoid staring at the long expanse of Kíli’s pale throat that the motion afforded him.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” replied the shorter man, rubbing his chin. “Fíli. Kíli. Ha, choice!”

At that, Bombur called Kíli’s name from the table a few feet over and the guitarist looked to Fíli, tilting his head in a motion that said they should rejoin the group. Fíli nodded, mentally noting that he’d likely follow Kíli off a bridge if the man so much as suggested a swim. He noticed the drummer was rolling a thick brown piece of paper between his thumbs and forefingers, licking the length of it and sealing it shut as the two men approached.

“Yo, Kíli, you in on this?” he asked, lighting the end of the blunt and sucking air through, making the flame from the lighter dance as smoke rolled across it.

“Is that really a question?” Kíli retorted, taking the offering. Fíli stared, entranced again as Kíli released a small, dense puff of smoke before sucking it out of the air before him, lips pressed into a small circle. He held the blunt out to Fíli, who shook his head, then took another small hit before passing it along. Fíli watched the man exhale the smoke in two plumes from his nostrils before he heard Thorin piping up loudly from the group.

“Ooh, there he is!” the larger man stood up from his stool, placing a smacking kiss on the cheek of the lavender haired girl. He stumbled a tad, sidling over to Fíli before throwing an arm around him. “Did you all meet my friend, Fíli?” Thorin pointed toward a few people, who nodded, laughing at the man’s antics. Since the band’s set had ended, Thorin had obviously consumed far more alcohol than Fíli had noticed. “He’s so cute,” the man continued, squeezing the blonde’s shoulder, shaking him a little roughly. “And so single! First single man to turn down my advances in a decade!”

Fíli’s eyebrows shot up, and his cheeks lit so hotly he knew they’d have been visible from space if he hadn’t turned, smacking a hand over Thorin’s mouth.

“Ookay! And that’s a wrap for Thorin’s night!” he said for his friend, who acquiesced with a sheepish grin and nod. “Goodnight, everyone!”

Fíli was embarrassed slightly, but knew that most of the people likely weren’t listening to the man at this point, though he received a few waves of farewell from Kíli’s bandmates. Still, he nervously ticked his eyes around to his new companions, resting them on Kíli who was half turned toward them, mostly chatting with those around the side of the table that were still passing the blunt around. He’d never been outed before like this, but it seemed that once again he had found himself in accepting company. There was nary a side eye or wayward glance in his direction, and he sighed out his relief. He started nudging Thorin toward the patio door, glad his friend could walk of his own volition, but the man suddenly stopped in his tracks, patting at his pockets.

“Wait wait wait,” Thorin mumbled. “Where’s my phone?”

Fíli turned back toward the table, but didn’t see the device on the surface. He looked back at Thorin and shook his head.

“Where’d you have it last?” he asked, sobering quickly as he forced his brain through mental obstacles, trying to remember when he’d last seen Thorin texting or taking a photo.

“It’s usually under my ass,” Thorin replied, heaping his answer with sass as he patted his back pockets. “Here, see if you can find it.” He grabbed Fíli’s hand and shoved it in his back pocket, but instead of copping a feel of Thorin’s well sculpted ass, Fíli pinched the man’s backside somewhat hard, driving a shocked yelp and another laugh from behind Thorin’s plastered smile.

“Dickhead,” Fíli whispered, pulling out his own phone to text Thorin’s. When he didn’t hear the familiar bell tone, he flicked on the flashlight widget and took a glance around them on the ground, but his eyes laid only on cigarette butts, a smashed beer can, and a few other pieces of litter. 

“Hey, Fíli, mate,” Kíli called from over the heads of his companions. “Let me see your light, I think it’s over here.”

Fíli handed his phone to the guitarist who dove theatrically underneath the table’s edge. A few moments later he came up, the offending device in his grip. He flicked a thumb over Fíli’s screen, shutting off the light before handing him both phones. Fíli took them gratefully, shoving Thorin’s into his waiting hands.

“Thanks, I owe you one,” Fíli found himself saying for the second time that evening. For a moment he wondered how many debts one could possibly owe to members of the same family, or if they consolidated after a while. Kíli, however, shook his head.

“It’s nothin’,” the Irishman replied with a wave, picking up his beer from the table as he moved away to chat with Fíli again. “Just come out to another show! I think you’ve survived the scene well enough for one night that you could make it all on your own next time. We’re in Dale tomorrow night—not too far from here.” He glanced at his uncle for a moment, then brought his eyes back to Fíli. “You uh…you need any help with him?”

Fíli looked over to Thorin, who had immediately opened his phone and pulled up a camera application.

“Take a picture with me, nephew!” he said cheerfully, slinging an arm around Kíli much as he had with Fíli minutes beforehand. He took the photo before Kíli was ready, but didn’t bother to look at it, stuffing the device back into his pocket. The case was thick, and barely fit into the denim as it vied for space with his car keys, so he pulled them out, handing the jingling bundle to Fíli. “I’m not sure that I can be responsible for these anymore,” he said, his voice wobbling over the middle of “responsible.”

“Definitely not,” the blond replied. He looked back to Kíli who had casually tipped the rest of his beer into his mouth, swallowing with a large gulp and a half stifled belch. Fíli laughed, Kíli’s small sound reminding him of the terrific one he’d let out earlier—he snickered a little more when he realized just how amusing body humor was, no matter how old he got. “You know, I probably could use a hand.”

The trio headed toward the parking lot, the more sober pair carefully herding Thorin, and found the sedan as Fíli pressed the button on the key fob, flashing the lights out in the darkness. Thorin pulled open his door, surprisingly careful not to ding the trailer parked next to them, and stood inside the open frame, lighting another cigarette. Fíli smiled at the man’s antics, turning when he felt the nudge of an elbow in his side. Kíli held out another cigarette to him. 

“One for the road, then,” he said, voice quieter now with a hint of a rasp. Fíli’s nervousness around the attractive man hadn’t fully dissipated, but when he fumbled for his lighter, Kíli was there to save him, zippo clanking open as he lit the paper end, quickly snapping the silver case shut after he’d pulled the flame away and lit his own. A moment later, Thorin called out into the night.

“Kíli. Sister’s son. Give me your phone!” 

The guitarist winced at the endearment, a sad look that Fíli decided was too familiar on the man’s face, but handed the phone to his uncle anyway. Thorin flapped a hand at the both of them.

“Squash!” he almost shouted at them, still standing in the frame of the car door, settling his elbows on top of it for stability.

Fíli furrowed his brow, unsure of what Thorin was on about, but Kíli hopped to immediately. Though he was shorter than Fíli, he still managed to get his arm tightly around the blonde’s neck, pulling him down almost in a headlock. Fíli’s skin lit up at the close proximity and he almost fell over, throwing his right arm out to keep from burning the other man with his cigarette. Kíli’s hair brushed against his cheek, soft and cool. He smelled like the outside—like humid summer nights, cigarettes, marijuana, and beer. Underneath that, however, was something distinctly Kíli, and Fíli knew nothing at that moment other than the sheer pleasure of having his neck nearly throttled in the strong arm of the guitarist. He could happily die right at this moment, he thought, and twisted his head almost too late to catch the flash of the photo being taken.

He stood straight then, coughing a bit and rubbing at the back of his strained neck. Kíli winked at him.

“Sorry, love,” he rumbled, “But I’m a dwarf in the land of giants, it seems.” He grabbed his phone from Thorin who had finally plopped down in the passenger seat of the sedan. “Just give him to Bilbo when you get him home. He’ll know what to do with the beast. Honestly, if I took him home I’d just put him in a kennel and leave off.”

Fíli nodded, pulling in a short drag from the cigarette and saying his farewells.

“Right, right. Well, uh…I mean. Thanks for the show tonight. It was really something. Totally cool.”

But the guitarist had already turned away, beginning the walk back across the gravel toward the patio. He raised an arm in the air, his hand in a fist except for his index and pinky fingers, throwing up a set of horns in salute.

“Ciao, mate!” he called back over his shoulder.

Fíli sighed and opened the driver’s side door, sitting down without adjusting the seat much and turning the key in the ignition. He watched the black clad guitarist’s back retreat to the crowd that was now milling about on the patio, the large patch on the back of his coat a leering goat’s head in an overturned pentacle that stared mercilessly back at him in the beam of the car’s headlights.

When he had disappeared around the corner, Fíli held both hands on the steering wheel and let out a frustrated groan, slamming his head back against the rest with a loud thump. Thorin startled up at the sounds, looking at Fíli with a bewildered stare.

“What?” he asked, tentatively. While waiting for the answer he began to empty his pockets into the cup holder.

“I told him…that I thought he was ‘totally cool’ tonight,” Fíli moaned pathetically. He knew he’d blown his chance for Kíli to think he was anything but a fawning, tripping, fanboy. “Jesus fucking christ, Thorin, what am I? A twelve year old?!”

Thorin laughed loudly, reaching between his legs and pulling a bottle of Coke off of the floor of his car. Fíli grimaced as the man opened the bottle, drinking it warm and almost flat.

“Do you have a crush on my nephew, Fíli?” he asked in the breath he huffed out after spinning the cap back onto the bottle, tilting his head and looking at the blonde through his lashes.

Fíli groaned again, this time thumping his forehead against the steering wheel, causing the horn to honk briefly.

“You do!” Thorin teased, drawing out the last word and poking a finger into Fíli’s side. 

Fíli ignored the man, slapping his hand away and punching the house-shaped button on the navigation screen that said “Home”. He put the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot with a slight squeal of the tires, speeding off into the night as a woman’s calming voice reverberated through the speakers. 

“When possible, make a legal U-turn.”

Fíli’s frustrated growl and Thorin’s cackle echoed out of the windows of the sedan as they drove past The Green Dragon one more time that night.

***

Fíli pulled the car into the driveway of a small house in the suburbs, parking and quickly shooting across to the passenger side door to help Thorin out.

“I’m fine!” the man cried out. “I didn’t throw up. You made me laugh and the Coke came out of my nose. The way I see it, that’s your fault, sir.”

The two men headed up to the front door along a stone path and a few mossy steps, the lacquered paint of the door shining a bottle green as the motion sensor porchlight came on. Thorin fumbled with his keys, but the wooden panel swung open, creaking quietly on its hinges before he had managed to pick out the right one. A smallish man in a maroon cardigan sweater with a mop of curly hair looked out at the two of them, one hand on his hip as he took in Thorin’s appearance from head to foot.

“Oh dear,” he said, “Better come in and have a cup of tea, then,” he finished, matter-of-factly.

“Sorry to bring him home like this,” Fíli stated as they walked down the hallway. Thorin had sobered enough during the drive that he was light of foot again, taking off his boots in the hallway with a clunk. “I’m Fíli Durin, by the way. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m a friend of Thorin’s from ZenFoods.”

The short man shook his hand with a smile as they reached the kitchen. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service. Normally I’d be more appropriately conversational, but under the circumstances…” he tilted his head, noting that Thorin was humming a quiet tune, throwing in a few words here and there and heading toward a flight of stairs. As he walked, he stripped off his clothes along the way. First the shirt and undershirt, leaving Fili to glance appreciatively at the dimpled space above his belt; however, as Thorin moved out of sight, Fíli heard the distinct sound of jeans being tossed down the stairs, followed by the deep voice, crooning away.

“…our long, forgotten gold…”

“Oh dear,” Bilbo said again, a short sigh flowing from him. He looked back to Fíli. “Would it be terribly bad manners if I held off on tea until the morning? You can kip on the sofa here and we can take you home in the morning if that’s alright.”

Fíli nodded, barely stifling a yawn behind his hand. “Yeah, that’s perfect really.”

Bilbo nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he followed Thorin’s trail of clothing, picking up each item and tossing them in a hamper that stood at the end of the hall. Apparently, this was a regular occurrence. “Make yourself at home,” he called back. “Bathroom’s on the left. Only room with a toilet. Good night, Fíli.”

Fíli heaved out a sigh as the sounds of Thorin and Bilbo moved quietly around upstairs. He surveyed the living room area—a long couch with blankets draped over the back stood next to a coffee table and a comfortable looking armchair. A television sat atop a fairly impressive entertainment center on the opposite wall, a used looking fireplace adjacent. The place was very homey, cozy even. Fíli was surprised to know that Thorin lived in a place so decidedly not-a-bachelor pad. He tossed his hoodie and phone onto the couch, heading toward the bathroom off of the hallway, his body suddenly reminding him that he’d consumed more liquid that evening than it could hold any longer. He relieved himself, washing his hands and face afterward. Standing in front of the mirror, Fíli took stock of his hair. It had only become slightly tangled, and he carefully teased the bands and beads out of the braids, releasing the tight plaits.

While Fíli raked his fingers back through the strands, he heard his phone whistle quietly from the living room. Padding back softly, he flopped down onto the soft leather couch, digging the device from under his hoodie and swinging his bare feet up to stretch along the length of the furniture. Dís’ shirt rode up slightly, and he slid his hand up underneath it, resting it on his stomach while he flicked the thumb of his other hand across his phone’s screen, unlocking it. A small envelope jumped at the bottom, a wiggling number one alerting him to the message. Opening the text, a slightly blurred photograph popped onto the screen, a fingertip obscuring a fraction of the bottom of the frame. It was the photo Thorin had taken of Fíli and Kíli earlier. Kíli had pulled a face, tongue dangling almost past the tip of his chin and fingers held up in a pair of horns. His other arm was wrapped tight around Fíli’s neck, and Fíli could see he’d twisted just in time for the camera to catch his half-choked smile and wide blue eyes. His brow furrowed for a moment, however.

“But who sent…” he looked up at the sender’s number.

Rather than a phone number, a contact had been saved. The name “Kílian O’Shee” was sandwiched between a series of emoticons: a small guitar and a music note to the left, and a tiny green dragon on the right. It was the final emoji, however, that made Fíli’s eyebrows snap up, his pulse fluttering momentarily. Following the dragon sat a small, yellow face, its mouth a tiny open circle, and two hearts sitting where eyes would normally be located.

Fíli let out a breathless laugh, startling when his phone buzzed in his hand. Another message had come in—another photo. This one was decidedly clearer, depicting Kíli on his own, a large smile plastered over his face, hazel eyes squinted almost shut above grin-stretched cheeks.

“Thanks again for coming out tonight,” the message read. “I thought you were ‘totally cool.’”

Fíli groaned and shut the phone’s screen off. He had to be dreaming. This was a hallucination born of artificial fog fumes and strobe lights. 

He closed his eyes, resting his hand over them. His relief was short lived, however, as his ears picked up a soft moan from the room above him, a shuffling and thumping noise following it. Fíli almost laughed at the absurdity of his situation, but simply rolled on his side to get comfortable.

Before he had a chance to reply to Kíli’s message, he’d fallen asleep, snoring lightly.

The phone fell from his slackened grip to the carpet with a quiet thunk, a small blue “message received” light blinking in the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kudos and comments. Please keep them coming!


	4. More of Thorin's Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili's side of things make the show and its aftermath look a little different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains detailed depictions of drug use. If this isn't your thing, please avoid.
> 
> Music: Legolas' band's sound is highly influenced by Volbeat and other psycho/rockabilly groups of that nature. Give them a listen if you'd like a good picture! I highly recommend "Guitar Gangsters and Cadillac Blood" for a song.

After his uncle and Fíli had left, Kíli stood at the sink in the bathroom of the Green Dragon, lowering his phone to tap the screen off after sending a final message. He stuffed the device into his pocket, turning the water on. The grimy tiles of the venue’s bathroom echoed and vibrated with the music of the band currently playing, covering the noise of the water, and Kíli watched it spiral down the slightly rusted drain grate as he leaned on the porcelain. He dipped his hands under the cool flow, rubbing his palms together a bit before bringing them out and patting at his flushed cheeks. The Irishman stared at his reflection in the mirror, its surface spotted with flecks of soap and other unknown splashes. Pinpoint pupils in an expanse of hazel iris glared back at him and he heaved a sigh, pressing his damp fingers over the dark circles under his eyes and pulling the skin down to expose the pale red vessels. He stuck out his tongue as well, his face a comical rictus of some zombie figure.

“I think you’re massively fuckin’ up this time around, mate,” he said quietly to himself. In the loud bathroom his voice was distorted, like it didn’t belong to him, and neither, he thought darkly, did the face in the mirror.

***

The evening had started like any other show night—they’d struggled to pack the trailer in time while Dwalin shouted about an 11:00 load-in, but they’d managed to arrive without too many mishaps. Bombur had only mistaken his pretzel rod for a blunt once, and Tauriel had managed not to succumb to embarrassing death as she choked on a swallow of water when the SUV had run over a large pothole, so things could only have been chalked up in their favor. 

Kíli had been on edge, news of the possible appearance of agents from Sindarin Records made him serious and quiet for most of the ride to the club. He’d found his fingers tapping out rhythms on his palms along with whatever happened to play over the speakers and his knee bounced with tenacity as he chain smoked nearly half of a package of cigarettes.

“Are you sure that’s what Legolas said, Tori? That there would be guys here tonight?” he’d asked the auburn haired woman sitting in the seat behind him.

She’d rolled her eyes at him in the mirror, answering the question he’d asked more than a few times already. 

“There’s not a whole lot of reading in between the lines required when a man says ‘My dad’s got guys at the Dragon this weekend’ into your clit, Kíli. Not that you’d know how to talk to a woman’s nether regions if you had the chance.”

Kíli had tossed some wadded up paper at her, taking her jab with a rueful smile, knowing that his repeated questioning was getting on her nerves.

“Please, I seem to remember waxing poetic into your fiery bits—what did you say? ‘better than any man, woman, or cocky blond pseudo-musician ever had in your life’?”

Tauriel had smacked Kíli on the back of the shoulder as his left hand had reached out for a congratulatory high-five from Dwalin in the driver’s seat. The older man had been snickering, and then outright howled with laughter at Kíli’s quick retort. Tauriel crossed her tattooed arms over her chest as she sat back.

“Fuck all of you god damned guitar players!” 

From the third row of the vehicle, Ori had let out an indignant sound from his throat and nose. He’d had a pair of massive headphones on over his short brown hair, blocking out most of the sounds of the car ride as he soothed himself into a trance-like state while he sipped a strong mug of earl grey tea. The screen of the phone on his lap had been paused on a particularly violent looking scene from an anime he’d been watching. This was his normal preparation for a show, and none had realized he’d been listening for a while. Tauriel had rounded on the young man at his nearly inaudible noise.

“And you know what, Orion? You’re being too fucking loud back there, so why don’t you pipe the fuck down too?”

Ori had said nothing, but raised a single eyebrow and there had come another gale of laughter at this. They’d spent the rest of the ride in relative quiet, smoking and enjoying the excited atmosphere before they arrived at the Green Dragon.

The show had progressed well, with so little issue in fact that he’d been caught off guard while performing. He’d thrown a wink when he’d glimpsed his uncle, but the blonde man trapped between Thorin’s arms and the barrier had blinked wide eyes up at him with a gaze so blue it had to have been a trick of the strobing lights. Something about it startled him, making the breath catch in his chest, and he’d had to cock his head to pull his eyes away from those depths, looking at Tauriel before he could move on in their set. The look on the man’s face had been one of complete awe, but there was uncertainty, maybe even fear, there as well—a look Kíli recognized all too readily as it regularly crossed his own features when viewing new sheets of impossibly complex music he believed he’d never be able to master. The gaze made him want to throw himself into the show without reserve in the same way he attacked new tablature, and he’d done so the only way he knew how—with overtly sexual banter and energy driven through the sweeps of his fingertips over the strings of his guitar. The efforts left him panting and coated with sweat, his hair a tangled mass from being spun in rhythmic fans with the music, but he’d lost sight of both his uncle and the blue-eyed man.

***

In the bathroom, Kíli’s phone tinkled a set of notes from his pocket and he pulled his hands away from his face to view the message, hoping that it was Fíli, but Tauriel’s number flashed at the top of the text.

[Where are you? Leg’s set is almost up. Should ask him about the scouts when he’s free.]

Kíli let out a breath, thumbing over the keys.

[Gettin straight. Patio?]

He shoved the device back in his pocket, took one last look at his appearance in the mirror, rubbed his eyes and pushed the door open into the boisterous venue. His eyes roved over to the stage where Legolas and his band howled long and loud into their microphones. He had to admit that their sound was something else, original lyrically but combining old style notation and rhythm with new age technology—Elvis with a heavy guitar and double-kick. On his way through the crowd he was accosted by a young woman carrying a tray of test-tubes filled with vibrantly colored alcohol.

“Shots?” she shouted over the music, her bikini clad hips swaying carefully so as to avoid spilling her tray.

He nodded vigorously, taking four of the tubes after flashing his badge at her. She eyed the laminated ID suspiciously, eyebrows raising at the name of the band, but the corners of her dark painted lips curved upward. Kíli downed the overly sweet drinks two by two, and laughed a little helplessly when the shot girl offered him one more.

“On me!” she hollered, her grin wicked. She held the tube to his lips and Kíli tipped his head back, allowing her to feed him the drink. After it was gone, he couldn’t help but pass the tip of his tongue over his upper lip, flirtatiously coaxing a giggle from the girl. She was pressed too close and smelled of cheap perfume; overly attentive, Kíli noticed as some of her body glitter rubbed off on the black denim his jacket and sighed inwardly, but with the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, he didn’t care too much.

“I’m off after this set,” she spoke into his ear. Kíli meant to look down at the floor, but his eyes were caught in her inescapable, heaving cleavage.

“Uhh…” he responded eloquently, putting one hand to the back of his head, feigning bashfulness.

“Ooh, you’re too cute. Come out to the parking lot after the show. A bunch of us staff are gunna have a party back at my place,” she all but purred. “Gunna have a good time, you know?”

“I’ll think on it,” he replied, not quite paying attention to the woman as he caught sight of Tauriel near the door. “Later,” he finished, walking toward his bandmate and ignoring the girl’s pout at being blown off so easily.

Kíli jammed his hands deep into his pockets and waded through the thick crowd, making it to the red headed woman who had a worried look, bordering on anger, plastered over her face.

“Getting straight?” she asked, looking down at him as he arrived at her side. “I thought you were over that.”

Kíli shrugged, looking to his left at the patrons who were passing through the door next to them.

“I am. It’s nothing, I promise. Not like last time. It’s just a little speed to finish up the night so I don’t fuck up my schedule for work,” he told her, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket and gesturing toward the door. “Can we…?”

Tauriel acquiesced, chewing her lip slightly, but she said no more. Kíli felt guilty, lying to his friend again, but he shook the thought from his mind as he turned away and cupped his hands to light his cigarette, only mildly burning his thumb as he missed the end of it with the flame. Tauriel didn’t notice the mishap and the two continued on their path to the group that nearly filled the back half of the patio. A few girls swarmed in a small group around the two as they joined, pressing them with questions.

“Kíliiii!” the lavender haired girl whined to his right. “Are you coming to our party?? Sasha said I should make you come!” there was a less than subtle emphasis on the last word, but Kíli was starting to heavily contemplate the idea. Before he could answer, however, the patio doors burst open again and out stomped a man with white-blonde hair and delicate features. He was followed by a large crowd of concert goers, each of whom plied him with merchandise to sign.

Kíli took that moment to check his phone again, but the screen stayed empty. No new messages.

***

After their set had ended, Kíli had fully intended on getting loaded and sitting with his band to discuss the events of the night and plan their next move for gaining the attention of the talent scouts. After losing sight of Thorin and the blonde man, he’d played himself out on stage. His elbows and knees ached ferociously from the efforts and his fingers felt raw to the touch, but a beer or ten would likely cure that issue and so he’d grabbed Tauriel and headed out onto the patio after load out. The exhausted guitarist had nearly frozen in his tracks, however, when he saw his uncle and the blonde at a table with Dwalin, Bombur, and Ori. A single thought, “oh fuck”, traveled through Kíli’s mind in bright, neon letters, and so he’d clung to his flirtatious sense of humor like armor, sliding his arm around Tauriel more tightly and purposefully putting a sharp edge to his demeanor. When in doubt, he’d thought, peacock. 

Kíli’d sat near the man, but not so close that he couldn’t snatch a glance when he wasn’t looking. Fíli, his name was, and the guitarist rolled it around in his head, putting different tones and emphases on it. He’d been unable to explain his sudden attraction to the man, but Kíli had watched his every motion, from the nervous playing with the strings of his hood to the way a single beaded braid swung near his right ear when he laughed or moved his head. He’d been completely taken aback by the way such a new comer could be so instantly liked by his bandmates, each of whom could be more than a little discerning when it came to making new friends. It came with the territory—one never knew when a strange face would turn out to be the next over-eager fan, following someone home or drugging one of them. It had happened before, and it would likely happen again, and thus they watched out for one another, though part of Kíli didn’t mind the attention—he’d learned how to brush the odd ones off and he’d never been known to turn down a good buzz. The guitarist had half participated in conversations around him, laughing and joking where appropriate, but his attention was monopolized by Fíli’s soft demeanor as he spoke with Ori. It was this that had had the man turning more than a few heads—Ori was not known to speak a word at shows, let alone be downright talkative, and yet there he’d been, deeply in conversation with a near stranger. Kíli had gaped, eyes wide and watching as the blonde had tentatively drawn sentence after sentence out of the young bassist.

When Fíli had stood to leave, Kíli knew he had to make a move or he’d lose his chance, though what that chance was for he hadn’t known. He’d practically chased after him, embarrassed by his antics though they were easy enough to blame on the alcohol. Up close, the man was taller than Kíli had realized, but he’d not let his surprise show when he’d offered Fíli his cigarettes—he’d always felt his height was a sore spot, especially amongst the band who relentlessly teased him about it. When those blue eyes had turned on him, however, it was all but impossible to think of much else as he’d had to stretch his neck to look up into them, and he’d stumbled for an answer as Fíli asked about his singing. Kíli, at a loss for words, had over compensated for the forfeiture of his conversational footing, laying on his flirtatious personality heavily and grabbing the blonde’s hand, placing it against his stomach and throat as he growled out a lyric in answer. Fíli’s hand had been warm, though a little sweat had dampened its palm, and behind his growl, Kíli had smirked, his imagination running wild with thoughts of that warm hand on his body elsewhere.

For the rest of their time together, Kíli’s head had swum with beer, weed, cigarettes, and too much laughter, but he’d still managed to pull an old trick, entering his personal number into Fíli’s phone the moment he’d grabbed the device while searching for Thorin’s on the ground. Moments later, it seemed, they’d left the patio, and he barely remembered speculating wistfully about what Fíli smelled like, when he’d suddenly found himself throwing an arm around the man’s shoulder to drag him down so that Thorin might snap a photo. His cheek bumped against Fíli’s hat, and within the brief timespan of the camera’s flash Kíli knew he was lost to this unusual blue-eyed character who had fit in as if he’d always been part of Kíli’s scene. Rather than act upon a sudden, intense urge to lay a kiss on the newcomer’s cheek for the picture, he’d stuck out his tongue, thrown up his horns, and loudly postured away his nervousness like he always did. 

Upon his return to the group, Dwalin had rubbed an elbow into his side, a shit eating grin spreading across his face as he’d leant forward so only Kíli could hear him.

“So did you get his phone number or what?” he’d asked teasingly, tapping his cigarette on the ashtray.

Kíli had shoved the man lightly, but found himself grinning right back, only mildly embarrassed that his antics had been so obvious. Dwalin was a close friend, however, so he’d not been surprised that the man had noticed.

“Got it before we even left the patio,” he’d replied, but his heart beat picked up a notch as he pulled his phone from his pocket and prepared to send a message. What would he say? He’d been lost in thought, attempting to control his nerves the entire time and only remembered snips of Fíli’s admiration for the show.

“Just be real with him,” Dwalin had suggested. “He seemed like a pretty down to earth guy. I don’t think you have to be too hardcore. You’d probably scare him out of his skin if he saw you stomp heads like you did at last month’s show at Blitz. Just—be Kílian before you show him too much Kíli, you know?”

Kíli had snorted at this, a flash of irritation fueling the small eye roll he’d given, but he remembered that the fight Dwalin spoke of had been particularly vicious and half-shrugged.

“Yeah, well Kílian works thirds part-time in a warehouse, sleeps on a bed covered his dirty laundry, and doesn’t have any food in the fridge at home,” he’d responded hotly, but he cooled swiftly to finish his thought with a dejected sigh. “I don’t think he’d like Kílian all that much, mate. I don’t even like him all that much. At least Kíli’s got this going for him.” With this, he’d gestured to the large crowd that filled the space around them.

Dwalin had sighed, but given Kíli a supportive shoulder squeeze and flashed a truer smile than his previous one.

“Then be Kíli for him. Give him a good show!”

And that was how Kíli had found himself overwhelmed, strung out, and taking photos of the cheesiest of his smiles to send to a man he’d just met in a grubby bathroom at the Green Dragon.

***

Kíli shook his head and set the phone down on the barrel top, snapping out of his reverie only after Legolas had pulled up a stool next to him. 

“What the fuck has got you so far away, Special K?” the man rhymed, settling in to sip at a bottle of water and smoke his cigarette.

“Bomb’s weed,” Fíli fabricated, sitting straight and taking a large gulp from the can of beer in front of him, running his other hand back through the long dark waves of his hair. “Hey, look, Leg, what’s the scoop for all this scout business tonight? Did they show up or what?”

Legolas nodded his pale head, re-rolling the sleeves of the white shirt that had come loose from around his elbows. He stretched and rolled his neck, sliding his thumbs along the black elastic of the suspenders that lay flat over his chest. The straps connected into a single track down his spine, emphasizing the breadth of the singer’s shoulders as they parted into a Y shape. He looked every bit the greaser but for the combat boots into which his dark jeans were tucked. Kíli eyed the man, waiting for further clarificiation.

“Yeah, they were here tonight. Probably caught your set. You know I’m not going to hear shit about it until Thranduil does, so why don’t you just relax? I hear there’s a party afoot!” 

Kíli sighed in exasperation. It was easy for Legolas to be so nonchalant—as a singer for a band already signed and sighted to hit it big in a matter of months, things must have looked like they weren’t moving at the glacial pace that Kíli felt they were. 

“Fuckin a’,” Kíli groaned. He checked his phone again, the screen showing him only the time—no new messages.

Setting it down again he took up his beer, drinking and looking around at the surrounding crowd. Some still came up to his own band mates, others plied Legolas for autographs and offered to buy him drinks. Kíli watched as the lavender haired girl from earlier sidled up to another table. A different woman, this one with a dark victory-rolled hairstyle and artfully sliced band t-shirt, casually looked around her before handing the lavender haired girl a small cylinder that had been cut from a drinking straw. The girl laughed excitedly and looked about as well before placing the open end to her nose and quickly inhaling a deep sniff. She took the cylinder away from her face, upending it on her fingertip, the minute amount of its remaining contents vanishing quickly into her mouth as she sucked the finger clean. Looking up, she caught Kíli’s glance and gave him a wink, her lips rounding seductively around the digit sliding between them.

Kíli closed his eyelids, rubbing an ever-present ache out of his neck, before flashing a sharp glance up at Legolas, who’d somehow pulled red-headed Tauriel into his lap. The couple looked up at him as he stood, shoving his phone into his pocket and slamming the rest of his beer.

“You know, mates,” Kíli said, “a party sounds like just the thing I need.”

***

At the wafting scent of rich, dark coffee, Fíli cracked an eye open from where he’d fallen asleep on Bilbo’s couch, picking his face up out of the pillow and rubbing a sleepy hand over beard roughened cheeks. A light blanket had been spread over his torso, but he’d slept so hard he couldn’t quite figure out how it had gotten there. The thought floated out of his head, however, as Thorin’s broad hand clunked a mug onto the short table in front of the sofa. Fíli eyed the mug, sleep addled brain slowly taking in the soft pastel stripes that twisted around its surface, then Thorin. He’d apparently showered and gotten dressed—his damp hair was restrained in a loose braid, a few errant strands escaping the twists and curling around his shoulders as he sat in the arm chair next to the sofa, his slipper covered feet resting on the floor and his own mug clenched in one hand, resting on his stomach as he slouched in his seat. 

Fíli pushed himself up with a tired groan, the blanket sliding down into his lap as he waited for the blood to rush back into the rest of his body. He patted his hair, arms, and chest, finding himself generally intact and reached forward for the coffee, wrapping his fingers around the warm handle. It was a few minutes of quiet sipping before either man spoke. Fíli was the first to break the silence, watching the steam from the hot beverage roll through an early morning sunbeam.

“So this is where the great terror of ZenFoods hides away. In a cozy home with a happy partner in the burbs, wearing sweat pants and drinking coffee from Easter egg looking mugs. And are those…bunnies?” 

Thorin shifted in his seat to look down between his knees, chuckling softly as he picked one foot up and then the other to eye the terry-cloth slippers more closely.

“Hm! So they are,” he replied, tapping them on the floor.

“It’s not funny, you know. Treading about on little rabbity type creatures. It’s just…nasty!” Fíli quoted sleepily, taking a larger swallow of the dark coffee. He blinked slowly, staring into the mug. “But seriously, thanks for giving me a place to stay. Last night was…”

Thorin waved a hand with a slight nod, leaning back into his chair, reclining softly.

“A great show. And listen, I’m sorry I got so obliterated. That god damned girl just kept pouring drinks down my throat. I called the bar about my tab this morning—I spent an embarrassing amount of money last night,” he brunette said with a quiet laugh. His voice became serious, his eyebrows raising in question as he spoke. “And speaking of embarrassing, what on earth happened between you and Kíli, hmm? You were making quite the scene in the car, and I mean, if you’re interested in younger men, you could have told me earlier on and saved me all the trouble of trying so hard to get you in bed with us.”

Fíli groaned softly, taking another swallow of coffee before engaging his brain further. He remembered first laying eyes on the young guitarist and his heart rate picked up, but his perception of their socially awkward parting left him cringing inwardly.

“I—I don’t really know, to be honest,” he told his friend, toying with the mug in his hands. He set it down on the coffee table and tucked his feet up under himself to sit Indian style on the soft cushions. He put his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. “I mean—I felt like I was in some shit kayak on white rapids. Obviously I don’t even know him, but part of me just felt like I could start talking and never stop with him. And not rambling, but real, substantial conversation, you know? And even though I was a complete twat in front of him, I still felt like if I could just get my tongue to spit out the right words that I could tell him anything and he’d understand and give me some kind of reassurance or advice. And that singing and his playing just gave me the hiccups—seriously, just thinking about it grinds the rest of my brain to a halt. It was all so intense and I just…Shit, listen to me. I’m sorry, Thorin, this has got to be weird for you. I’m talking about your nephew for fuck’s sake!”

Thorin laughed and shook his head, assuaging the blonde’s anxiety. He picked his bunny-clad feet up from the floor and rested them on the coffee table, stretching comfortably.

“Please, do you think this is the first time I’ve heard or seen someone pine for him? You should see some of the comments on their videos online—the only ones more graphic than the ones about Kíli are those focusing on Tauriel, or more specifically, her breasts. Listen, Fíli, if anyone in this world were to have my blessing to date the kid, it’d be you. Just—just don’t get into things too quickly, alright? Kíli’s had…”

Their conversation was interrupted as Bilbo trudged down the stairs, wrapped in a patchwork bathrobe. He headed to the kitchen, getting a mug down from the cupboard and pouring himself a cup of coffee. His spoon tinkled lightly against the ceramic as he stirred in milk and sugar, filling the quiet air with a delicate ringing. For a moment he bopped around in front of the counter, feet quiet on the linoleum as he pressed the lever forcing two slices of bread to disappear into the toaster. Waiting for the appliance to finish its work, he joined the other two men in the living room with his coffee, his sandy curls bouncing has he leaned over the side of the arm chair to lay a chaste kiss on Thorin’s damp hair. He remained standing, raising his mug to Fíli in a ‘good morning’ salute, to which Fíli replied with his own raised mug.

“Cheers,” Bilbo said. “Did I hear Kílian’s name just now?”

Thorin hummed in response. “You did. Seems Fíli here is a bit enamored with him after last night’s show. I was just in the middle of giving him some helpful advice.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows raised over the rim of his mug and he nodded.

“Did you tell Fíli that we’d murder him and hang his severed head by his pretty blond hair in my air garden if he so much as thinks about breaking that boy’s heart?” he said nonchalantly as he raised his eyes from his swirling caramel colored beverage—something in his gaze flashed as the look settled onto Fíli.

At this, Fíli spluttered. They’d gone from discussing Fíli’s silly, strobe light induced, twitter-pation with a raging guitarist to something along the lines of receiving permission from a father to marry his son. He looked between the two men, laughing nervously and somehow feeling like in Bilbo’s eyes, he might come up short of ideal if he wasn’t careful.

“You two talk like I came in here with serious intent to date someone or proclaim my love or something. Please, I’ll probably never see him again. It was just one show, and what the hell would he want to do with me anyway? I’m part of a completely different lifestyle, I keep to myself most of the time, and I was an absolute imbecile after their set, and wouldn’t he like…I don’t know, not want to hang around with some drooling fan boy? That seems like a trite kind of fantasy, doesn’t it?”

Thorin settled an appraising look onto Fíli as Bilbo wandered back into the kitchen to retrieve his toast after a metal clattering signaled its completion. 

“Why would you think that? You got his number didn’t you?” he asked. 

Fíli’s eyebrows shot up. How had Thorin known about that? Before he could ask, Thorin answered him as if he’d read the look on his face like text.

“I saw it on his phone when I went to take the photo. And Kíli isn’t particularly known for offering his contact information to people that he’s not interested in at least speaking with again. When I started seeing Bilbo, you wouldn’t believe how many times the poor man went to his high school to pick him up only to find out that Kíli had already ridden the bus home, simply because he refused to call Bilbo or give him his cell phone number.”

“He didn’t like me very much,” Bilbo supplied with a shrug, crunching on a piece of toast as he sat on the couch to Fíli’s left, crossing one leg over the other so he could rest the small plate holding his breakfast on his knee. “Now I’m pretty sure that he tolerates me, and it’s been about 12 years. It takes him a long time to warm up to anyone, particularly if he’s met them in any scenario that could put his band at risk. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him just passing that kind of information out. Consider yourself a real life mythical creature, Fíli.”

“Wonderful. So I’m the sasquatch of metal show night life. Not like I needed anything else to set me apart from that scene,” he griped, but a tiny spark of hope glowed in the back of his mind. At that moment, Fíli’s phone blipped shrilly, signaling its low battery, and he reached down to pick up the device from the floor. “Actually, this all reminds me that he sent me a photo last night,” he said as he slid his finger over the screen to unlock it.

Bilbo and Thorin looked to one another, Thorin letting out a quick “Uhh…” of hesitation. Fíli rolled his eyes as he pulled up his inbox.

“Not that kind of photo, jesus,” he quickly amended. “The one you took of us, Thorin. Oh, wait—there’s a new message here.”

Thorin and Bilbo watched as Fíli read this message, the blonde’s cheeks slowly reddening as his eyes widened simultaneously. It was more than they could take, and Thorin sat up straight, startling Fíli into nearly dropping his phone as he barked.

“Well? Out with it, man! What’d my nephew say?”

Fíli still couldn’t believe his eyes and he read the short message a few times over before he relayed it to the two men waiting with bated breath.

“I have an extra ticket to Saturday’s show in Dale. Doors @ 9. Late lunch, my treat, if you’re interested.”

The message was followed up with an emoji—Kíli seemed rather fond of them—a tiny fork and knife. Fíli looked up from his phone at Thorin, who was smiling warmly at Bilbo.

“Seems like you’ve got yourself a date,” the brunette said. “Bilbo, our plan worked a little better than we thought it would!”

Fíli’s head snapped from side to side as he looked between the two men again, flabbergasted.

“P-plan? What plan is this? Thorin told me you guys were looking for a third, but I turned him down!”

Thorin was laughing helplessly in his chair, but he made a motion for Bilbo to explain.

“Well, yes, we were. But the real plot had been to get you and Kíli to meet. Thorin has been telling me about you for a while, since you’d become friends at work really, saying that you might be just the kind of person that Kíli would like. Quiet, razor wit, patient, and not likely to be a criminal. We’ve honestly had enough of those in our lives to be sick to death of it.” The curly haired man sipped his coffee, looking down his nose at a few offending drips that slid down the mug’s ceramic side and onto his bathrobe.

“And there’s never any harm in flirting a little,” Thorin interjected. 

Fíli shook his head. He could barely believe what he was hearing. This had to be one of Thorin’s ridiculous pranks gone wrong.

“And how on earth do you know any of that about me? What if I run some kind of drug cartel on the side? You don’t know what I could be capable of!” In reality Fíli was more concerned that he likely led the most boring life anyone could think of. He was deeply interested in medieval literature, taking online classes toward his degree here and there between shifts at ZenFoods. For the most part he lived alone and read, drew, or took photographs when the fancy struck him. He was grade A, jumbo egg with a white shell boring. 

“Are you saying you aren’t interested in my nephew, Mr. Durin? Because if that’s so, you’ll need to tell him that right now. I won’t have anyone leading him on, friend or otherwise,” Thorin said, crossing his arms over his chest. His smile quirked up on one side as he surveyed his blonde friend. “Last night, however, it seemed like you would have jumped at a chance like this.”

Fíli didn’t know what to say, so he blundered on.

“Yeah, well last night I was drunk. Today I’m…”

“Presumably sober and still attracted to a young, talented, good looking, and extremely eligible bachelor with a promising career in music who couldn’t take his eyes off of you the entire evening?” Thorin finished for him.

“He what?” Fíli questioned, cocking his head at the older man’s remark.

“He-couldn’t-take-his-eyes-off-of-you,” Thorin responded, enunciating every word.

The blonde man stared at his friend in disbelief. That couldn’t possibly be true. Fíli had acted like a moron the entire time he’d socialized, only finding himself capable of rational thought while talking about the curriculum and practice schedules at Juilliard with Ori. He’d found the young man’s experience fascinating, and though he had barely understood a word out of his mouth due to the fairly dry and complicated topic and Ori’s quiet voice, he’d still nodded emphatically in effort to get him to continue. He’d found out that Ori’s life’s dream as an avid musician and anime fan was to score an entire animated film for Studio Ghibli, possibly even working alongside Hayao Miyazaki, whoever that was. Any interaction Fíli had had with Kíli had left him feeling like he was drowning—working hard not only to speak a single word, but to fit in a joke that might give the guitarist the impression that he was somehow witty or tough enough to hold his own in the scene. 

Self-doubt mired his thoughts, but as he thumbed through the messages on his phone another time, something shifted. The image of Kíli smiled attractively up at him from the photo, rounded cheeks pushing his eyes closed. It was an expression of genuine personality, and Fíli found himself smiling as well. In the photo, dark hair spilled over Kíli’s denim-clad shoulders to reach beyond the frame of the picture, and Fíli remembered the intoxicating smell and feel of those wavy tresses pressed against his cheek during the strangle hold for the previous photo. He remembered the vibration of Kíli’s throat under his hand as he described the proper way to growl into a microphone and just these thoughts alone had Fíli’s cheeks burning hotly again. He looked back to Thorin helplessly.

“What do I do?” he asked, hands open and eyes wide, pleading.

Thorin clenched a victorious fist then reached over and patted Fíli’s knee.

“You could start by saying ‘yes’ to the lad’s invitation.”

***

Kíli woke slowly, peeling his eyes open and blinking lethargically to clear them of sleep. In a moment of disorientation he sat up from a large, L-shaped, couch with unsettlingly grey upholstery, a groan sliding between his lips as his head swam. Memories of the night before came leaking back to his mind in small, out of focus pieces and Kíli cast his eyes about the room—the girl who’d served shots lay sprawled on one end of the sofa, breathing deeply. She was topless, her bare breasts rising and falling as she slept, a single nipple ring glinting in the light that squeezed in just under the drawn blinds. On the floor next to her spot was the pin-up woman he’d seen on the patio, her victory rolled hair had come loose and fluttered around her nose. Several other people littered the room, one man looking particularly uncomfortable as he snored, the top half of his body leaned over a dining table while the rest was scrunched onto a hard backed chair. None of the people he could see where his bandmates, and he released a mental sigh of relief. A coffee table sat just in front of him, littered with overflowing ashtrays, tipped beer cans, and several pieces of discolored tinfoil among handfuls of other garbage. A video game console had been pulled out, games littering the floor around it, and several controllers sat on the table as well. In an arm chair nearby, the lavender haired girl lay curled under the arm of a young man she’d brought from the show, one hand tucked into his jeans at his hip. Her makeup was smeared, and a matching pattern spread across the lips and neck of the sleeping man. 

As he attempted to rub the sleep from his sight, Kíli’s uncovered eye rested on the tattoo scrawled down the man’s tan side, a cursive script reading something about fear and total annihilation. Kíli snorted a bit at the idea, but the motion caught in his throat as a wave of nausea crashed over him. He surged up from the couch, barely making it to the kitchen in time to retch forcefully into the sink. Luckily, it had been empty, so Kíli leaned low, his clammy cheek resting on the divider between the two halves of the basin. The cold smell of clean steel cleared his head somewhat, and he turned the faucet on, taking a loud slurp to rinse his mouth and halfheartedly splashing the water around to clear the sink. It took him a moment of leaning against the counter to take stock of himself—he still wore his boots, though he’d taken his jacket off before nodding out completely, overly warm in the smoky room. The topless girl’s head currently rested on the balled up article in question. His jeans were unzipped, hanging low on his hips and his open belt buckle clinked against the counter—Kíli cringed at the thought of what that might have meant in relation to the events of the night, but he was otherwise whole it seemed. He reached down to fasten his clothing shut, the zipper loud in the silent kitchen.

As he became more aware, however, Kíli recognized the familiar ache that slowly rolled up his body, making his joints feel over-large, his neck a stiffened pillar, and he walked to the fridge squeezing one hand over the back of his complaining neck. The young guitarist pulled the last remaining beer and a Coke from inside, cracking both and chugging the hoppy amber liquid before starting on the soda. He trudged back to the living room, red can in hand, and dropped onto the sofa in a deep slouch. He eyed the folded foil on the table, leaning forward and grabbing one, scraping a discolored section with his thumbnail. When no residue chipped loose he tried the others, all with the same results. Kíli huffed an irritated sigh and pulled a half smoked cigarette from the ashtray, lighting it and sitting back again, taking another swig of Coke. A rigid obstacle pressed beneath his thigh and he slid a hand into the space between two cushions, pulling his phone out, irritation turning to gratitude that he had neither lost nor broken the expensive device. He flicked on the screen, and a small notification jumped and danced at the edge of the display—he had a new message.

The bottom of his stomach felt like it had dropped through the sofa he sat upon as he eyed the jumping envelope. He hesitated for a moment, holding the cigarette between his lips as he clicked the button, hands suddenly shaking as he read the response from Fíli.

[Sure. Where were you thinking? Should we meet up there or…?]

Kíli let out a long burst of smoke. He’d forgotten until that moment about the final message he’d sent the blonde before he’d left for the party. He looked to the corner of the message—it had been sent at 9:07 that morning, and it was currently 11:48. He hurriedly typed back, hoping he hadn’t missed his window.

[You said you were sort of new in town right? Let me show you around better than Thorin—I’ll pick you up.]

Kíli hit the send button and sat for a moment, finishing the cigarette before searching his pockets for his pack. Coming up empty handed, he knew it must be in his coat, so he carefully teased it out from beneath the topless girl’s head. She moaned at its loss, cracking her eyes open. As she caught sight of Kíli she smirked, dragging her teeth across her lower lip and stretching like a contented feline. The tan lines where a bikini normally sat shifted as she moved, nipples crinkling in the open air before she placed her hands over her breasts to hide them from view. She cast a wicked wink at the guitarist, her eyeliner smudged appealingly.

“Mm, so glad you made it last night. How do you like my little den of sin, Kíli?” her voice was low, sleepy, but edged with desire.

Kíli looked from the woman’s eyes down to his coat where he fished deeply for a pack of cigarettes, ignoring her come-on. He found them and lit one, pulling it from his lips and offering the first to her before he lit one for himself.

“Just fine. Hey, listen, I’ve gotta get straight and go. You still have those eighties?” he trailed off, giving a vague hand gesture. 

The girl gave a half disgusted sound and sat up, holding her breasts close with one forearm and flicking the ash onto the coffee table with the other.

“Tsk tsk, sir. Business so early in the morning? Can’t we have some fun first?”

Kíli gave her a dead eyed stare until she gave in, huffing out a sigh and climbing over the girl who still slept on the floor. She moved across the room and opened a door to what appeared to be her bedroom. He could hear her shuffling around inside before she came back, this time wearing a fluorescent pink t-shirt that hung to her mid-thigh. She tossed a rattling orange bottle at him and his eyes grew large as he inspected it through the remaining scraps of a label that had been peeled off. An entire scrip. He could have kissed her. At the moment, he decided to play things as usual and flirted her price down to something he could deem reasonable before he headed to the kitchen.

Kíli tipped one of the blue tablets onto a clean space of the counter, pocketing the bottle. Pulling his wallet out he slid his dinged and dented driver’s license from its slot and pressed it over the pill, pressing hard with the bottom an empty bottle he’d grabbed from the coffee table. After the crunching had ceased as he rolled the bottle across the card he lifted it to push the powdered drug into a few manageable rows. Kíli slipped the card back into his wallet and pulled out a single bill, rolling it into a tube before setting it to his nose and bending to inhale the powder. Once ingested, the drug dripped down the back of his throat in a stinging line, making him sniff and snort, swallowing a few times to rid himself of the feeling. As the high set in, the ache disappeared from his neck and shoulders, tension and a bubbling anxiety he hadn’t noticed before slowly dissipating. He tilted his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sniffled for a moment, letting out a contented sigh, body growing lighter and looser by the moment.

“Starting to think you have a problem, there, Kíli,” the girl said from behind him, leaning against the door, still smoking the cigarette he’d given her. 

“Starting to think it’s not your fucking business,” the young guitarist shot back in a low voice. Noting the affronted look on the girl’s face, he apologized. “Ugh. Fuck. Sasha, right? Sorry, I’m just hurtin’ a little this morning. You uh, you think I could get a ride somewhere, love? I think my mates have abandoned me. I’ll throw you gas money.”

The girl nodded, stubbing out the cigarette in a nearby can, and headed to the counter near him. She pulled a glass out of her cupboard and went to the sink, but as she reached to the faucet she grimaced. 

“Ew! Someone puked in my fucking sink!” with narrowed eyes she looked to Kíli, who shook his head innocently and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, you can get a ride. But you’re paying for my latte on the way, too. And you can pump the gas. What’s your hurry anyway?”

Before he could answer Kíli’s phone beeped from his pocket and he quickly snatched it up again, opening the new message. It was Fíli’s response.

[Okay. 143 Mirkwood Drive. Brick house with the red door and bike in the driveway. Time?]

Kíli waffled for a moment before sending his reply. 

[3. Black jeep, loud metal. Keep an ear out.]

He shut the screen off before sliding it back into his pocket. In a sudden burst of energy, Kíli let out a whoop and punched the air before him, a wide smile drawn across his face.

“What’s my hurry?” he said, looking at the startled girl. She’d pulled a pair of black leggings from a nearby laundry basket that had been sitting atop an ironing board and was sliding them up her legs. When Kíli had shouted she stumbled, her foot caught in the black stretchy fabric. “I have a date!”

***

After reading Kíli’s response a third time, Fíli set his phone down on his bed. Thorin had taken him home after Bilbo had treated them both to a stunning late breakfast. Eggs, bacon, hash browns, the works. He’d stepped into the shower after he’d arrived home and was currently standing in his room with a towel slung around his hips, having washed the grime of the previous night from his hair and body. He sighed, this time determined that he’d not make an ass of himself as he tossed the towel and searched naked through his dresser drawer. 

I’m going to be myself this time, he thought. Just my flannel and my boots and…

Fíli caught sight of himself in the mirror that hung from his closet door and all thought of playing things tough or cool flew from his mind. Since he’d broken up with his ex, it had been a long time since he’d felt the need to impress anyone, and self-consciousness roiled around his head as he inspected his body. His wet hair dangled in curls around his shoulders, dripping water down his chest. His shoulders were slightly bonier than they had been, and he lamented cancelling his gym membership, but his stomach remained taught and muscular, a golden trail of hair stretching from his navel down under the waistband of his boxers. Freckles dotted the tops of his shoulders, and a lightly tinted birthmark marred his right hip, the only other mark being a dark tattoo that wrapped around his left shoulder and down his bicep, a geometric pattern much like that of his sister’s, but embellished with runic symbols he’d translated from a favorite medieval epic. Fíli snorted derisively at his own specky reflection—that tattoo was likely the only tough thing about him. He felt like a stereotypical farm boy that had just crawled out from the cornfields, his summer tan lines marking where his sleeves and shorts ended—the only thing missing was a straw hat. Something needed to change about this. 

Fíli looked to the shirt he’d pulled from the drawer but tossed it angrily to the bed, cursing, the flannel fitting too closely to the farm boy image he wanted to shake off. He yanked on a pair of jeans over damp legs, opening his bedroom door.

“Dís,” he called loudly down the hallway. “I need your help again!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long this chapter took to get up. I was preparing for a friend's wedding and had to brush off my bagpipes so I could pipe her down the aisle. Ahhh, love. <3
> 
> And, as always, thank you for the comments and kudos. They always brighten my day.


	5. Sustained Human Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili picks Fili up for an afternoon on the town, and their conversation ends up being anything but mundane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for LGBTQ slurs and abuse description.

Fíli sat nervously at the small kitchen table, wincing as his sister threaded her fingers into the fine blonde hairs at his temples, pulling as she twisted them into a thickening braid. 

“What am I doing, Dis?” he asked, voice drawn out in turmoil. “This is stupid. I don’t even know this guy. I’m going on a date with someone I didn’t know existed until yesterday. Do you know how absurd this all sounds? I haven’t gone out in almost a year!”

The dark haired woman nodded, her ever-present pony tail bobbing around her shoulder as she pulled a small tie from between her lips to wrap around the end of the braid she worked on. 

“Absolutely insane!” Fíli continued, nonplussed by her lack of verbal response. “Clueless idiot goes to show with his friend, ends up on a date with extremely attractive metal guitar player. The next line has got to be something like ‘ends up murdered and sliced to bits, found in a shopping cart at the local burning church while corpse painted whackos dance in the nude’. I mean, honestly. This guy isn’t even my type. Even Thorin is more my type! Not this guy with his…his fucking denim and his patches and pentagrams and his fucking cigarettes and his five o’clock shadow and his…

“Go on,” Dis plied, tying off a second braid.

Fíli sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes and shaking his lowered head.

“His long, soft hair, and his slender fingers, and his muscley stomach and his…”

Dis tugged a braid, drawing a yelp from her brother in response. “And how is it that you know what this guy’s stomach looks like, hmm brother mine? Just what exactly went on at this show?”

“Well, I don’t actually know what it looks like—more like what my sex-deprived imagination made it look like. I felt it when he grabbed my hand a held it there while he did his singing thing for a minute. I don’t know really—everything happened so fast, and I was pretty buzzed the whole night. I mean…shit, I shouldn’t even have driven home but Thorin was absolutely trashed. Hey, don’t look like that. I—well, we had to get out of there. Man, just thinking about it all makes me want another cigarette. Did I tell you that? Months of quitting just down the drain in an instant! What is wrong with me?!”

Dis had raised one eyebrow, giving her younger sibling a heavy side-eye for his behavior. Fíli grinned sheepishly, brushing off the silent admonishment as he prattled on. 

“Did I tell you about his eyes, Dis? He’s got these intense hazel eyes and I didn’t see them until we were talking after the show. On stage they were these black pits, you know? They were just contacts, but I couldn’t stop looking into them—it was like everything around me just disappeared. I just…I just wanted to crawl over that barrier and touch him. Even if it was just his boots. Which, by the way, did amazing things to his figure. He’s all hard angles and dark hair and fire. And that accent—I…Well, describing it now…I don’t know. It’s almost humiliating. I can’t explain what came over me. I’m…I’m obsessed! And what the hell is a guy like him going to want to do with me? I’m a nobody. Absolutely no one. I work at a fucking grocery store.”

Dis laughed gently at her brother as she finished up another braid.

“And you look totally adorable while doing that,” she said. “Fíli, don’t sell yourself short. There’s no reason for this guy NOT to be interested in you. You’ve got plenty of redeeming qualities that anyone would kill for, starting simply with the fact that you aren’t a criminal or a psycho. You’re kind, good looking, I don’t know anyone smarter or more loyal than you, and you know what? You’ve been through a lot in the last few years, let alone the last few months. Cut yourself some slack.” Dis slid a single, shining bead up the twisted blonde length and tossed the final braid forward on her brother’s shoulder. “There, done.”

Fíli looked turned his head to look up at her. His sister had been there for him through everything, and she rarely steered him in the wrong direction. She’d been the first to warn him that his ex-boyfriend seemed a little off and that he should be careful, but he hadn’t listened to her. Two years passed and he lost a lot of contact with his sister, the only close relationship he’d known in nearly a decade. His partner had somehow made him believe that no one wanted him around, and Fíli had grown to depend on the man for shelter, money, and most other resources. He’d left the man after what he’d thought was a little tussle had come to harder physical blows. When Fíli had shown up on her doorstep, Dis had only gently touched his swollen black eye with a sad nod, wiping a few of the tears that had spilled over his cheeks, and welcomed her brother into her small home in the city. 

“Just relax, brother mine. Don’t think too much into things. You’re going to lunch and another show—things you’re familiar with now, so you can chill. I trust this time you’ll avoid so much booze?”

Fíli nodded, the braids swinging forward into his peripheral view. He caught one and looked at it thoughtfully.

“Yeah. I don’t think I could stomach any more. I’m kind of hungover,” he laughed. “God, I haven’t said that in so long. Who even am I?”

“You’re my brother. The cute, wholesome, boy next door, who has fallen into the dark pit of sin and temptation that is the rock and roll night life. You’re Sandra D, lousy with virginity.” Dis’ voice picked up into an obnoxious sing-song as she plopped into the chair next to her brother. She put her chin in her hands and fluttered her lashes at Fíli, continuing on. “Won’t go to bed till you’re legally wed, you just CAN’T! You’re Fíli D!” 

The two laughed together for a minute, bumping shoulders comfortably.

“You got that right,” Fíli said. “Even though a virgin I ain’t,” at this statement, Dis made an exaggerated gagging noise as she stuck her tongue out, “I’ve got to be careful with this guy. Too many tie ins to my friends, and I think that Thorin’s husband said something about putting my head on a pike and waving it in front of my weeping family if I break his heart. Seriously. Me? A heart breaker? In what fucking universe? It’s usually the other way around.”

Dis nodded slowly. “And besides, maybe this guy just bangs groupies on the regular and you’ll catch something from him if you aren’t—” Suddenly her sentence faltered and trailed off, her eyes going wide as she stared, slack jawed, at her brother. “Wait. Thorin’s WHAT?” she cried.

“His HUSBAND, Dis. You heard me. Fucking big, bad Thorin O’Shee is MARRIED and lives in the fucking burbs with his fucking HUSBAND,” Fíli replied, a smile curving over his features as he watched his sister’s paradigm flip on its head. Between the two of them, she had known Thorin longer. She’d introduced them while Fíli was searching for a job over the winter months and had been happy to find out she could go back on the road for work, knowing her brother had made at least one friend in the city. She’d not known the man was married, however. His personality seemed too flippant and outrageously flirtatious for monogamy to suit him.

“Husband…” she murmured, eyebrows furrowed. She took a sip from her glass of iced tea on the table and pondered this new information.

“Well,” said Fíli, “he told me their marriage was open, so it kind of explains why it might never have come up.”

“Husband…” she grumbled again, still in disbelief.

“Dis,” Fíli called. “Snap out of it. You’re supposed to be helping me here. What am I going to even say to Kíli? I could hardly get two words out last night without feeling like a total dipshit. And now it’s daylight hours, and neither of us are going to be drunk. What if he realizes he’s made a huge mistake—what if I realize I’VE made the mistake? Oh god, I don’t think I can do this. I can’t be fucking dating again.”

Dis was about to reply, but as promised, Fíli heard the jeep pull up outside before he saw it, the tires crunching in some end-of summer leaves that had collected on the street. A deep throbbing bass hummed out over the sound of the engine, nearly rattling the windows of the house. Fíli’s eyebrows darted up and he glanced over at his sister.

“Fuck,” he said bluntly, eyes wide and pleading. “He’s here. Oh fuck.”

Dis positively cackled in her seat.

“Oh this is too stereotypical. Too good,” she cried through her laughs. “Just go, dude. Be yourself. No one likes a liar!”

Fíli found his fingers tracing over his left eyebrow, remembering the swelling and bruising that had forced the lid shut for days at the close of his previous relationship. He shook his head and stood up from the table, sliding a hoodie over another shirt he’d borrowed from Dis, this one sporting a large letter “O” embellished with spirals. Yet again, a deep confliction crawled over him and he took several breaths before turning back to his sister.

“No,” he replied, yanking up the hoodie’s zipper. “They don’t.”

***

Fíli hopped out of the backdoor and down the concrete steps to the ground, eyeing his bike as he passed. There almost seemed a force keeping him from looking ahead at the dark jeep that blocked part of the driveway. He eyed the small droplets that spattered the tarp covering his small motorcycle, their silvery trails reaching to the ground where they speckled the cement. He didn’t feel ready for this—even just a simple afternoon out with someone new. Anxiety writhed up and down his arms, and Fíli shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he headed toward the street.

Part of him still felt tied to the past—like he was standing in a doorway that required some password or proper set of movements to let him through. He doubted himself, his ability to make good decisions or to keep himself from being hurt again. But he still kept walking, toward what he knew might have the capacity to change his outlook on the future.

“No,” he mumbled to himself. “It’s not some fucking rite of passage. It might not even be a fucking date. I’m just getting lunch with some guy and supporting a band. It’s nothing. Just chill, be cool, christ.”

Before he knew it, he had reached the end of the driveway, and that Irish brogue burst over his ears, making his cheeks burn and his blue eyes raise from the cement.

“Alright there, mate?”

Kíli stood outside of his still-running jeep, leaning against the passenger side fender while he smoked his cigarette. The vehicle had a bit of rust around the edge, and Fíli could see a vague orange streak on the edge of Kíli’s dark jacket. His dark hair tossed a bit in the gentle wind. Their eyes met and Fíli knew the flush in his cheeks would give him away, and so he laughed off the question.

“What?” he asked, overly loudly as he put one hand behind his head. “Oh, oh yeah! Totally fine. Maybe just a bit hungover from yesterday.”

Kíli took another drag on his cigarette before tossing it to the ground, grinding the butt under his boot sole in a dark black stripe. He nudged Fíli with his elbow before meeting his eyes again, hazel gaze mixing with Fíli’s blue.

“Ahh, lightweight, eh? Well, come on. I’ve got just the thing,” he said, turning and reaching for the handle of the passenger door. He pulled the barrier open and it gave a slight squeal, revealing the jeep’s shockingly clean interior, and held it for Fíli. “After you,” he said with a nod.

One of the seemingly infinite bundles of nerves in Fíli’s gut loosened at the gesture, and he ducked his chin in an almost bashful response, stepping up into the jeep before Kíli shut the door with a thud behind him. So this was a date.

As he settled in the seat, Fíli reached for the belt to click it in place. The interior was older, a dark material covering the seats, and smelled of cigarettes and warm upholstery. There was a little grit on the floor mats, and Fíli smiled to himself as he noticed there were nearly as many guitar picks as there were stray coins in the pull-out ashtray. The stereo had been turned down, but as Kíli hopped up into the vehicle, arranging himself with the ease of one with long hours spent in the seat, he turned it up a few more clicks. Fíli cocked his head, looking over to Kíli as the vocals poured from the speakers. He wasn’t particularly familiar with the Japanese language, but the singers couldn’t have been more than teenage girls. The music, however, was as fierce as anything he’d heard the night before.

Kíli shrugged and laughed a little helplessly, knocking the jeep into gear and pulling away from the curb.

“Baby Metal,” he said, as if the two words explained everything. When Fíli didn’t break his stare, he elaborated. “It’s this group from Japan that Ori was really into for awhile. The band’s run by this guy, but they hire like, preteens and girls and stuff to do the singing. It’s a little gimmicky, but the sound’s catchy. And besides, it follows the theme for today!”  
“Theme?” Fíli asked, turning his head to look out the front windshield rather than gaping at the man next to him.

“Yeah. You ever been to Un-PHO-king Believable downtown?”

Fíli shook his head, but voiced his negative when he realized Kíli likely couldn’t see him from his peripherals. He was glad for the chance to answer mundane questions, anxiety settling to a more manageable level.

“I haven’t, no. Between work and hiding in the house I don’t tend to get out to too many places. I’m…kind of a home-body.”

“Well, Fíli, you are in for a treat. They have the best pho in town and they make it however you like. Perfect for a hangover, the flu, celebrations, breakups, makeups, and just about any other kind of up you can think of,” Kíli bubbled.

The dark haired man patted his pockets, pulling a cigarette out of the package with his thumb and placing it to his lips. He wedged a knee under the steering wheel, momentarily holding it still as he lit it and took a deep drag. He cracked the window and blew a stream of white smoke out through the gap.

Fíli caught his reflection in the side mirror. Kíli’s personality was infectious, and he found himself smiling, despite his nerves. He relaxed into the seat, staring out the window as they drove into town, but his efforts at learning more of the street names and building faces were dashed as Kíli bumped a hand into his arm, offering the pack of cigarettes. Fíli looked at the slightly smashed rectangular package and then back to Kíli, steeling his resolve.

“You know, last night was sort of a fluke. I was supposed to be quitting, but I got kind of into the spirit of things. I uh…I might have to pass.”

Kíli nodded, eyes still on the road, and tucked the package back into his jacket pocket.

“I feel you. Nasty expensive, they are.” He held up the two fingers that grasped his own cigarette, turning his hazel eyes on Fíli, who promptly felt his palms go clammy as their gazes met. “It doesn’t bother you if I…”

Fíli shook his head, not wanting to infringe upon Kíli’s own habits.

“Oh, no! No, not at all. I can resist,” he replied. 

Kíli nodded, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he drove. He sighed out a final puff of smoke before tossing the butt out the window and rolling it up.

“Well that makes one of us then. So, you’ve never really been into the city?”

Fíli shook his head with a small shrug.

“Like I said—homebody. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to, there’s just never been a good time for me to do any exploring. I live with my sister back there, and she found me that job through Thorin. I had only been in town for a month or so, and I told myself ‘just get used to having a job here first’. Now it’s been awhile…and I still haven’t managed to go exploring or get used to the job. Or, well anything really. I guess I feel kind of out of place still. Like, without any anchors I could just float away, you know? I haven’t pulled out a paintbrush or sketchpad in forever. I used to love to go to parks and people watch, but lately I haven’t had the heart for it.” Fíli paused momentarily, eyes wide as he realized he’d gone right into his rather dismal personal life without so much as a preamble, and quickly attempted to backtrack. His booted feet slid nervously over the floor as he spoke again. “God, listen to me. I’m rambling. Sorry for getting so heavy right off the bat!”

Kíli, however, had been listening intently. There was something about the blonde that had him hooked in. Whether it was the kindness in his steady blue eyes, so much like his uncle’s, or his quick way of opening up in conversation, there was a candidness bordering on naiveté with which the Irishman found himself entranced. He wanted to show Fíli the town, hell, the world, if he could. When the blonde balked for a moment, he urged him to continue.

“No, not too heavy at all, mate. I prefer conversation to be of more substance than whatever’s fallin’ out of the sky. Remember, I sing about dismembered bodies and war, so the heavy is always on my plate. Go on, go on. What brings you to town?”

Fíli let out a relieved sigh. It was refreshing to unload, even if it was only a little. He was careful to steer clear of his previous relationship however, the mere idea of divulging his tumultuous past burned his psyche like a brand. Damaged, it said, worthless. Fíli was determined to not to let it show. He went on with his story, weaving in between some of the darker details. Kíli’s soothing baritone drew the words out of him, and before he knew they were speaking avidly, his previous nerves about talking flown away.

“Well, I don’t get on too well with my family, so for a while there I went away to college to live in an apartment out of state. I got about halfway through, but ran out of cash and then ran out of patience for the whole thing. I wanted to make some cash, but never had time to get a real job in between all of the classes and trying to keep up a home without a roommate. I tried to go home, but uh, things were pretty tense. My parents didn’t “agree with” or “believe in” my lifestyle, and so I left and settled here after awhile.” Fíli spared the other man the details of the pain and suffering he’d been put through at his family’s hands, giving enough of a history to pass. He sighed inwardly at the topic he’d buried long ago, resolved to keep it that way. “Uh, then I guess things were up and down. I lived there, I lived elsewhere, and then I came back for good and got the job. So here I am, in this jeep, heading to lunch with a guy I barely know.”

Kíli nodded. He could sense there were things that Fíli wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t push, knowing how much he hated it when others did the same to him. He plastered a smile on his face, however, and spilled a quick bio to take care of the smaller bases. 

“Well, I’m Kílian. Kíli, as you know. I’m 26 years old. Was born in Ireland—round abouts Galway. Tourist town. Came to America when I was 17 to live with Thorin. I’m vertically challenged, and am just shy of 12 stone. I’m not a serial killer, though I can murder a pizza like no one you’ve ever seen. I smoke a lot, I don’t go to the gym, I haven’t cut my hair in five years and once told a boss to fuck off about it. I currently work part time in a warehouse down…”

But Kíli was interrupted by Fíli’s deep laugh. He looked over at the blonde in his passenger seat. Finally, the stiff shoulders had let down and he’d stopped chewing the inside of his cheek. A smile curled the scruff of beard that had just begun to show up on his chin, and white teeth flashed as he subdued his chuckling. 

“You told someone to fuck off about your hair? Who even hassles someone about hair anymore?”

“You know, you might find it surprising. I worked in this liquor store and the arsehole said something about it getting stuck in a machine or under a pallet. I figured it was bullshit, since another bloke had a tail almost as long as mine. Then I heard him say something about ‘fucking queers’ and so I threatened a lawsuit, and then he fired me over some violation that he pulled out of his arse. I had no proof, so I couldn’t take him to court or anything. I knew it wasn’t about the violation though, since on the day he handed me the pink slip he told me to have fun suckin’ cock and shakin’ ass for money without him as a reference. So I gutted him, left him lyin’ in the doorway, and got a job at this warehouse on the edge of town.” Kíli shrugged as he finished the story, tucking a lock of the hair in question behind his ear, but Fíli stared wide eyed.

“You gutted…”

Kíli interrupted with a laugh, chucking Fíli on the side of his leg.

“Kidding, mate. I did tell him to fuck off though. Didn’t need his help, it turned out. I’ve got a pretty choice gig at the warehouse. They give me all the hours I want, so long as I come in and pick things up and put them back down in the right places. Gives me time to focus on the music. Oh, but we’re here!”

Fíli quickly looked out the window as the pulled up to the restaurant and Kíli steered the vehicle into a parking spot near the door. They hopped down from the vehicle and headed through a glass door with a wooden sounding chime that announced their arrival. A young woman stood behind a podium and went in to a well-rehearsed greeting, but the moment she noticed Kíli she dropped the act for a more genuine expression. She came around the podium and gave the man a brief but firm hug, looking up into his face with a beaming smile. Fíli was surprised at himself as a small pang of jealousy crept up from his belly. It was swept away, however, as she turned to him and gave him the same treatment, adding a squeeze to his bicep with a surprisingly strong grip.

“Ohh, Kíli! Welcome back! It’s been ages! And who’ve you brought with you?”

“Hey, Mai,” Kíli responded jovially, pushing his hands into his pockets. “This is Fíli. He’s a new guy in town! Picked him up at the Dragon last night and thought I’d drag him down here so I could look at his rather attractive face awhile longer and treat him to some of the best pho in the county.” 

Kíli threw a wink in Fíli’s direction, stoking another blast of heat up Fíli’s neck and into his face. The blonde took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling—he couldn’t decide if he wanted the earth to swallow him up or if he was floating on a cloud. It had been a long time since he’d been so blatantly, let alone flirtatiously, complimented in public and it made him a little uneasy.

“Well let’s just get him settled then,” Mai was saying as Fíli grounded himself back in reality. 

She led the two men to a table near the large window. The afternoon sun was shining warmly, and the seats were pleasantly lit in the golden glow. There were a few other patrons in the restaurant and Fíli eyed them, but they didn’t seem to be paying the pair much attention, so he took his seat and finally settled his eyes on Kíli’s face as the Irishman studied the menu. 

“My ‘attractive face’?” he prodded.

Kíli looked up, a crooked smile spread across the lower half of his face. Fíli was struck by the man’s looks again. The shadow of a beard darkened his chin, and his long hair, though tucked back, hung down over his shoulders and chest in a pleasant wave. He’d kept his jacket on, and Fíli could hear the thick soled boots clunk quietly under the table. 

“Yeah, attractive face. Have I misread something? Did I not ask you for an afternoon date, and did you not accept?”

Fíli’s eyebrows raised—Kíli was definitely Thorin’s nephew alright. The forward, no nonsense way in which the man questioned him reminded Fíli so strongly of his older friend that it threw him completely off balance, and he stumbled forward in conversation.

“Well—I mean, yes. I suppose I did. I guess I’m just not used to…anything so open. I honestly didn’t even think that you noticed you’d used that word, and you sort of exude this strong, straight male persona. I wasn’t sure what to make of it and didn’t want to assume anything. I saw you with Tauriel last night and I guess I thought you two were sort of an item and I...I…”

Fíli was almost in a panic, his breath quickening in his chest. It had been years since he’d had to discuss sexuality with anyone, and the last time had been in a much clearer and much more private setting. He wasn’t sure what to do at this point, but Kíli swooped in to save him.

“Tauriel and I are not an item—at least not any longer. A year or so ago we were, but inter-band relationships are more complicated than I’m interested in dealing with, and we almost lost her. Took everything I had to suck it up and tell her I was sorry for being such a cock, and it took her a few months to come round and pick back up with us. As for the attraction in it all—I guess I don’t swing in any particular direction. I just know what I like when I see it. I think I was more attracted to Tauriel because of what she did with our sound, you know? Really brought something different to the table. ”

Fíli nodded, but the look of discomfort on his face gave Kíli pause.

“Let’s get off the topic of exes, shall we?” Kíli broached. “Have you ever had pho before?”

Fíli let out a breath of relief and shook his head, picking up the menu and scanning it briefly before looking back to the man across from him. Before he could say anything, however, the woman from before arrived to take their order.

“You know how I like it, Mai,” Kíli said first, handing her the laminated menu. 

Fíli, too wrapped up in their previous conversation, looked with wide eyes at the paper, barely retaining any of the information displayed.

“Uh, you know. I think I trust the regular here,” he told Mai, giving up the menu. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Adventurous!” she said, quickly scribbling down the orders on a small pad of paper. “I’ll bring some hot tea. You’re going to want it—it takes the burn out.”

Fíli blinked at this, but put it out of his mind when the delicious, flowery smelling beverage arrived at the table in a small tea pot along with several glasses filled with ice and a carafe of water. He sipped the tea carefully, enjoying the enticing aroma. 

Kíli watched the blonde raptly, taking in details down to the smallest motion—the way Fíli’s lips pillowed the rim of the cup, the way he looked down into the vessel as he drank from it, eyelashes dark against his cheeks from the angle, how the tendon of his right wrist leading into his thumb jutted out as he set the cup down on its saucer…He shook his head and sighed inwardly at his own social ineptitude. He couldn’t help himself. Everything about the man made him want to stare, and it was driving him slightly up the wall. He rubbed his palms on his denim clad thighs, annoyed at the peculiar nervousness that Fíli’s presence evoked. Normally he’d turn up the charm, and any other issues would follow suit or totally dissipate, but today things were anything but normal or ordinary. He tapped his feet under the table, mulling over the slightly awkward silence that lay between the two of them. Of course, it seemed apropos when the two asked different questions simultaneously to break the moment.

“So when did you…”

“What kind of…”

Fíli laughed nervously, but Kíli motioned for him to go on with his questioning.

“I guess, how did you start up with music?” the blonde asked tentatively. “I don’t really play anything—my parents were more settled on me doing sports when I was a kid, you know, to help me “man up”, so I never got the chance. Played a load of hockey, but never picked up an instrument.”

Kíli pondered this for a moment, wanting to give the man a heartfelt response rather than something generic.

“Well,” he started, “Dwalin would say that I was delivered forth from my mother’s loins and unto the strings of the lute god or some such garbage, but really it’s not so glorious. I was a pretty sad kid, you know? Like most musicians are. I got teased a lot for bein’ a little guy, and I ended up spending more time with an old guitar of my da’s than with people. I’d just play things I heard on the radio and when they figured I wasn’t a total sham they signed me up for lessons and here I am today. I think people have this idea that music is some kind of magic, but to me it’s more like reading a book. You put your head down, and before you know it, you pick back up and it’s six hours later and you’ve forgotten where ya are and your cuticles are bleeding.”

At this, Kíli looked at his own nails, chewed a bit short, and ran his thumb over a particularly red section on his ring finger before looking back to Fíli. 

“What’s your take on it? Music, that is,” he asked.

Fíli’s eyebrows gathered in the bridge of his nose, creating a small line. He pulled his lower lip into his mouth, running his teeth over the flesh as he thought about the show from the night before, turning it from every angle against his experiences with shows before.

“I think it’s like a catalyst,” he finally revealed. “It makes things happen. It just depends on a lot of factors, is all. Who you’re with, what you’re listening to, what you’ve got going on in your head. I mean, I’ve seen people get wasted and dance on tables for the right beat, or quiet guys at the bar cry at the drop of a hat if you play the wrong chord. Last night was a fighting night—I could feel as much when this big fuckin’ guy got in my face about being in the way of the bar. He had all these big rings on his fingers, and Thorin came up and threatened to kill him in that terrifying king-of-the-mountain voice he’s got.”

Kíli he frowned a bit, recognizing the man’s description, but nodded as Fíli went on, rolling a bit of straw wrapper into a ball.

“But I knew something else was in the works too, I think. I was so much more social than I usually am. I mean…I was just out with a friend and it turned out like this, and I don’t think we’d be here without the music.” Fíli slapped a hand to his forehead, realizing his comment sounded shallow. “Not that you being in a band made me go out with you! Well, I mean not that what you do isn’t amazing…it’s…it’s just not why I said yes to your message. I think that it had more to do with Thorin. He and Bilbo were really what sold me on today. Thorin’s got that kind of personality that makes you do things you’d normally turn down. I mean, no offense, but you’re not my usual type, and you’re definitely way out of my league!”

Kíli leaned in a bit, tilting his head at this. Fíli couldn’t help but watch as a long, dark fall of hair tumbled over his shoulder only to be tucked back by nimble fingers.

“Not your type? And I don’t even play the game enough to be in a league,” he said.

Fíli shook his head in incredulity, one of the braids woven into his hair thunking gently against his ear. 

“I can’t even begin to believe that. I was there yesterday, I saw all those screaming faces. You could have had your pick of anyone there. And as for types, no, you aren’t really mine. I’m not…well, I’m sure you won’t be surprised to learn this, but I’m not a rock or metal kind of guy. This,” he plucked at his borrowed t-shirt, “belongs to my sister. So did the stuff from last night. The most I know about the metal scene is that it’s pretty rough no matter where you go. Mostly, I listen to indie stuff—lots of acoustic artists and not much else. I mean, sure, there was a time where I tried out the club scene, but that’s so long ago I don’t think that I can say I was “part” of anything. I’m more of a plaid and flannel wearing kind of guy anymore, and I go for older men, if we’re being frank.” 

Fíli stopped to sip at his tea again, looking at Kíli for some sort of reaction. He didn’t see anything but curiosity in the hazel eyes across from him, so he continued.

“I guess—I don’t know. I half thought I was on some kind of date with Thorin last night. You though…you’re different. I’m still pretty sure that I’m having a very weird and unusually domestic kind of dream right now.”

Kíli laughed at this, stretching languorously over the back of his chair and slinging an arm over the open seat next to him.

“It’s no dream, mate. And besides, if I show up in any sort of image, it’s gotta be a nightmare. And as for the look you’ve got, well I hadn’t really figured you for any kind of type. Maybe just an Opeth fan. ”

“You’d even have to explain to me what Opeth is,” Fíli said with a bit of a laugh and another shake of his golden head. “And as of yet, I don’t think I can pin you for a nightmare. I once dreamed that I was being eaten from the inside out by ants. Talked to a therapist about that one and found out it was some symptom of social anxiety, which likely is what got my ass stuck in the house for so long rather than getting out here and exploring the town. Anyway, you keep calling me the new guy, but you’re definitely not from here either. What brought you to the country?”

“Hmm,” Kíli started, chewing his thumb a bit. “Well, a lot of things really. Oh, and by the by, you’re definitely the new guy compared to me. I’ve got about 10 years on you, even if I have been living out of a van for four out of seven days of the week. I’m a card carryin’ citizen. But, the main reason I live here now,” he hesitated, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. Now it was Fíli’s turn to tilt his head, waiting for the Irishman to finish his answer. “I, well I guess it’s because my parents died and Thorin’s the only family I had left. I came over with nothing, and he really raised me. Got to deal with angsty high school Kílian and the sulky musician I’ve become. He’s been great, even though he started young with it. He was maybe our age now when he took me in, so he had to knock off all his biker-world traveler-hippie shit when he got me. Really settle down, you know? And I didn’t exactly make it easy on him and Bil, but I’m sure you can imagine that.”

Fíli watched the Irishman as he relayed the story; it was obvious it made him uncomfortable. Every moment was like witnessing a dramatic scene—Kíli’s motions were constant. He bounced his legs or balanced one foot on top of the other, swaying his knee side to side. It was a drastic change from his demeanor while Fíli had been speaking, and so he paid close attention. Fíli knew that his own habits—biting his lower lip or the inside of his cheeks—were likely just as noticeable to the brunette. 

“But anyway,” Kíli segued, “enough of the sad stuff. Tell me more about this mysterious, blue-eyed stranger that I’ve dragged into the light. You drink, yeah? Saw as much last night. What’s your preference?”

Fíli pondered a moment, rolling his eyes at himself as he answered.

“You know, I feel so stereotypical saying this, but I really dig these microbrews coming out all over. But if I’m at a bar, I go for the dark stuff. It kind of masks any dirty line taste it might have, and if I’m paying six bucks a pint, I’m going for something a little stronger.”

Kíli nodded, an appraising look on his face, but before he could say anything more, their order arrived. 

Mai set two large, steaming bowls down in front of them and bowed before turning away and heading back toward the kitchen. Fíli, eyes wide, stared at the beautifully prepared soup, heaped high with red meat, noodles, and sprouts. Kíli had already unwrapped his chopsticks and was stirring the bowl’s contents together. 

“I promise, you’ve never had pho like this before,” he said, lifting food to his mouth.

“How about never had pho, period,” Fíli said, fumbling with his chopsticks for a moment, positioning them with an endearing clumsiness that made Kíli smile around his mouthful of sprouts.

After placing them firmly, Fíli dipped them in the reddish broth, pulling up a few noodles and greens. He smelled deeply, the enticing aroma filling his nose, and took a bite. Immediately the spiciness of the dish burned over his tongue, nearly choking him. His eyes watered, nose immediately set to sniffling while the spice did its work. Kíli chuckled lightly as the blond frantically reached for his mug of tea, the temperature nothing compared with the chili pepper-induced fire in his mouth and throat. After a few moments of coughing, hand on his chest, Fíli looked up, face reddened. Kíli plastered a look of feigned innocence across his face, swallowing his own bite.

“What? It’s good for the voice to bring some fire to your chest. How is it?”

“I…it’s…” Fíli stuttered, coughing a bit more. “It’s actually really great, what I can taste of it anyway. I love spicy stuff, but I wasn’t prepared for it!” He touched a hand to his mouth. “I think my lips are numb.”

Kíli nodded, slurping a few noodles from the deep bowl before him.

“Yeah,” he replied. “That’ll happen at this place. Mama doesn’t mess around in the kitchen and I’m pretty sure she’s full of chili paste and curry rather than piss and vinegar.”

Fíli hummed his acknowledgment as he took another, considerably smaller, bite. They ate in silence for a moment, stealing glances at each other when one or the other wasn’t looking. Fíli was tracing his eyes over Kíli’s sharp jawline, admiring the play of shadow, when the man looked up, however, catching him in the act. He quickly averted his eyes, covering the blunder with a hastily voiced question.

“Sorry! I’m staring, I now. It’s just—what are all of the patches for? I’m sure they’re bands and all, I’m just not familiar with them. Is the jacket kind of a prerequisite for metal heads?”

Kíli blinked for a moment before looking down at the myriad pieces painstakingly sewn with Frankenstein stitching onto the black denim. They came in various shapes, sizes, and designs and covered almost every inch of the coat’s surface, though Fíli noticed a steel spike or two rising from the puzzle near the guitarist’s shoulders.

“It’s a battle jacket,” Kíli responded candidly, as if this were clearer than mud. It took a moment, but after Fíli raised one golden eyebrow, Kíli explained further. “A battle jacket is sort of a physical manifestation of your taste in music. Every patch is a band or venue, you know? Kinda tells the world where I’m comin’ from.”

Fíli nodded, then spoke around a bit of food in his mouth.

“I think your accent does that just fine!” he teased lightly, feeling bolder as he became more comfortable, gesturing toward the Irishman with his chopsticks.

“Yeah, well so does yours, Yank,” Kíli teased back. He ventured a small tap against Fíli’s leg with his boot under the table and Fíli responded with a roguish smile.

Fíli felt his face heat up in a manner that had nothing to do with the fiery lunch. He was out of practice with this scene, and the words didn’t come easily to him anymore. On top of that, something about Kíli made him tongue-tied in the worst sort of way. He rambled on, hoping that in the gush of words that he could grab onto any sort of conversational life line.

“I’m serious! Singing last night, you couldn’t even tell that you’re not from here, but as soon as you started talking the whole room probably swooned. And, well, I don’t know anything about singing, so I don’t know how hard it must be to cover up or change your voice. And that growling is probably harder to perform than it is to explain.” He dug himself deeper and deeper into what he knew was a failure of a flirtation before giving up completely and jumping ship. “You know, you can stop me at any time. I’m kind of dying over here, almost as bad as last night.”

“You seemed to hold your own with Ori pretty well,” Kíli said, a mirthful smile spread over his face. He’d known Fíli was struggling, but the flustered look he’d tried to cover, twisting his lip as he chewed his inner cheek, was too good to interrupt. “You know, he’s the worst of us. Total nutcase sometimes. Won’t leave his apartment some shows for fear of how the humidity will affect the tuning of his bass. Once we had to send Dwalin up to actually pick him up and drag him out—it wasn’t pretty, but the show really rocked that night. His fears are pretty unfounded, anyway. Unless he played the thing while swimming, a little moisture couldn’t hurt our sound.”

“I think last night was fluke brought on by the booze,” Fíli claimed. “As you can tell, I’m actually a complete asshole, who has trouble participating even in simple conversation.

At this Kíli waved a hand, stalling any of the blonde’s further deprecation. 

“You’re fine, really. Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m just a normal guy, and I think you’ve got an interesting story to tell in there somewhere. Here, I’ll make it easy. Let’s do that question game—simple questions, no long answers, back and forth. You in?”

Fíli released a pent up sigh and felt some of the tension leave his shoulders, relieved that Kíli had given him the out. He nodded, pulling at the string of his hoodie.

“Okay,” he answered. “You first?”

Kíli tapped a finger to his chin momentarily, debating on the question to ask. His eyes roved over Fíli’s face, noticing how the other man looked away, settling his gaze on a space around his chin rather than straight on. He lamented the loss of that blue, moving a bit to try and catch it again, but Fíli stirred some of his remaining broth nervously around his bowl while Kíli looked sized him up. 

“How tall are you?” 

Fíli drew his head back into his shoulders, surprised at the mundaneness of the question. What on earth did the answer to that matter?

“I don’t know-six feet, maybe a little over. But I don’t see…”

“Ah, ah!” Kíli interrupted, a finger in the air as he gave Fíli a pointed look. Their eyes caught again and he smiled, finding ease in that clear gaze. “No explanations unless it’s part of the answer. Your turn.”

Fíli sat back and thought for a moment, setting his chopsticks down in the bowl with a ceramic sounding clatter.

“When is your birthday?”

“December seventh—I’m a Sagittarius.” Kíli feigned shooting a bow and arrow at Fíli, closing one eye in mock aim. “When’s yours?” he asked as he “released” the arrow.

“August fourth—Leo. Though I don’t act like one. If you had to eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Easy,” came the reply. “Pizza.”

“So a date that included said food would never be a problem,” Fíli quipped. 

“Not unless there’s barbecue sauce on it. Can’t really understand why people ruin perfectly good pizza with barbecue sauce.” Kíli paused for a moment, his face lighting up in teasing mirth. “Already thinkin’ of second dates? What if you decide you hate me? That I’m annoying or my chin’s too fat or something? I’ve heard those things before, you know. I’m prepared to hear them again. I’m perfectly capable of ordering my own pizza all alone on the couch.”

Fíli’s eyebrows shot up and he choked on a swallow of water. His response hadn’t been meant as an implication, and he hurriedly explained as much.

“Ah, no, I—well—Hey now! Wait a minute. No explanations necessary, remember? Even if I was thinking that, that’s for me to know. We have a whole night ahead of us. No fishing in the future just yet. Besides, it’s your turn now.”

Fíli was satisfied with the way he’d been able to manipulate the rules of the game to his advantage, and crossed his arms over his chest, smiling as Kíli looked deep in thought for a question to ask. His smug smile dissolved instantly however, his face blanching as Kíli dropped a more difficult question into his lap, obviously decided that Fíli had had enough of a warm up.

“When you came back to town, why’d you choose to live with your sister?”

The blonde’s thoughts raced and his hand instinctually went to his left eye, changing the gesture to a quick rake of his fingers through his hair. He debated on fabricating a short tale—something, anything that made him feel less like a pathetic victim in front of the Irishman. This sort of information took years to unearth, and on a first date he thought it might be best to side-step the tale. Fíli toyed with the bead in his braid, and one moment turned into two, then a minute. Kíli must have sensed the landmine he’d stepped on and attempted to retract the query. 

“You don’t have to answer that, mate. Sorry, sorry…”

But Fíli shook his head, his statement to Dis in the kitchen ringing through his mind. Nobody likes a liar. He steeled himself and huffed a breath, blue eyes meeting the hazel orbs across from him in a moment of strengthened constitution. Kíli looked genuinely concerned, his brows drawn tight, forming a crease above his nose. He rubbed at the back of his neck, busying himself with the sensation, but Fíli pushed on.

“No, no, it’s fine. I mean, it’s only fair if you know what you’re getting yourself into. Besides, if this proves I’m too much, then you’ll save yourself some money on the date after you ditch me run screaming into the sunset,” Fíli did his best to cover his nervousness with humor. “This one…requires some of the explanation though.”

Kíli seemed to relax a bit, but his mind swam. What he was getting himself into? Part of him laughed inwardly, bringing his own spiraling troubles to flash before his eyes and sparking a tingle of cold sweat to start just behind his hairline, but he ignored the feeling and pushed aside the sudden urge to pat his pockets and check that the small plastic bag was still there. He decided that anything Fíli would say couldn’t be as bad as anything he himself could dredge up, and so he smoothed a hand over his jaw and looked back up to the man across from him.

“Hit me,” he said plainly, and Fíli took a deep breath before beginning.

“Awhile back,” Fíli started, “I was in a relationship with someone who turned out to be…not so nice. I’d met him while I was still pretty closeted, and he was even worse. Looking back, I’m not sure how we even got together. I think our mutual fear of our families kind of led us into things. I depended on him probably more than I should have, and he had a place of his own, so it was no time at all before I lived with him. I didn’t notice it at first, but over that time I became pretty isolated. I used to have loads of friends left over from school and just from around, but one day I realized they had all gone. Like, I looked up one day and I had a new phone and none of my old contacts and it had been months since I’d spoken to anyone other than the few people he brought over to the house. We didn’t go out much, either—he said that he was tired of other people looking at me. That’s about the time when I decided I wanted out, and I guess the ending of things was pretty climactic.”

Fíli paused to sip his tea, but it had gone cold, so he pushed it to the side. Kíli listened raptly, leaning forward on his elbows. A lock of long, dark hair had fallen in front of his shoulder, curling slightly before its end. Fíli focused on that twist as he continued, unsure if he could meet Kíli’s eyes while he spilled his personal nightmare. He inserted a bashful laugh, trying to lighten the verbal blows he knew the story brought.

“It actually got pretty gruesome. I walked out one night after a nasty argument, completely intending to never go back, but I lasted a week on my own before my accounts were empty. He shut my phone line off, and I couldn’t go to my parents, so I had to go back to him, and it only got worse from there. He said a lot of really terrible things—I’d try to walk away and he’d grab my arm or whatever. He’d do that shit where he’d threaten to hit me, but I could usually stare him down. Kind of shame him until he let go.” Fíli laughed nervously again, but he couldn’t stop the flood of words. He briefly looked up to Kíli, but there had been no change in his demeanor. “I guess…there was just the one time where I couldn’t get him to let go. He’d been spouting off about my school bills and my worthless degree—thought he could ‘talk some sense’ into me by reminding me that I didn’t have anyone else in the world that would appreciate the things I did. So I got up to walk away and he grabbed my arm like usual. When I couldn’t stare him down, I shoved him in his chest and he tripped over the coffee table and fell. I don’t think I’ve ever been so fucking scared in my life when he just surged up off the floor and came at me all full of this electricity. Kind of like when a dog just suddenly bites you or that moment your heart kind of stops when you get snapped by a mousetrap, you know? He grabbed my hair in this big fistful and then just bam! Threw me at the wall like I didn’t even weigh anything. I mean, I’m a pretty big guy, so that’s not an easy thing to do and I just bounced off the corner of the door into the kitchen.”

Kíli rolled his tongue around the inside of his mouth, touching each of his teeth as they ground together, in an effort not to show any of the anger bubbling up from the pit of his stomach. He’d heard tales like this before, felt pity for the story-tellers, but coming from someone like Fíli, it was different—it made him see red, and a fierce desire to hit the road and commit a violent felony concocted itself in the back of his mind. How anyone could raise a hand and damage someone like this was beyond him completely, but he had to shove the images out of his head, stifling a growl. He crossed his arms then, hands clenched into fists where the blonde couldn’t see them.

“Like I didn’t fucking weigh anything,” Fíli repeated. “I turned back to him, just a deer in the headlights, and he came again. Hit me that time—not like, open handed or anything either. It was this ugly knock down-drag out fight like we didn’t even know each other. Just some brawl on the kitchen floor. The next thing I knew, he had a kitchen knife and I was laid out against the corner cupboard. Couldn’t see out of the one eye. He must have come to his senses or something then, and he dropped the knife on the floor—it actually stuck in the linoleum, like some god damned movie—and kind of crawled over to me just this crying mess. He kept saying how sorry he was and if I just hadn’t pushed him it would never have happened, but I just sat there on my ass. And this was my bare ass, mind you—my back pocket had gotten torn off at the corner when I tried to get away and he grabbed it—and I just kept thinking ‘man is that ever uncomfortable, the ducts under the house must have come loose for the floor to be this cold’. Few things make you feel less brave than having half your ass out with a fucked up face and a crying would-be murderer in your arms. I just waited for him to be done, and I guess at some point a neighbor must have called the cops. They didn’t do much of anything, and so I waited for him to be asleep and I packed my shit and left. Took off in the middle of the night and went to my sister’s.”

Fíli paused for a moment to draw in a deep breath. He studied the table top, and half expected that when he looked up, that Kíli would have gotten up and snuck out. But, a litany in his head ran in shouting circles—don’t stop, don’t lie, don’t stop, don’t lie…

“After a while my phone started ringing nonstop. Got a lot of really nasty messages calling me names and threatening me. Sometimes he would be crying—sobbing these long apologies into the phone. I almost forgave him at one point, he sounded so bad. Dis talked me out of it—said I should give it some more time, and she was right. After that, the messages got nasty again before they finally kind of fizzled out and stopped coming. I changed my number when a call came in that I didn’t recognize a few months in. It was him. Said he knew where I was living and that he was coming to get me, but he never did. You know, I feel so stupid about the whole thing—like I should have seen it coming. It’s pretty pathetic that I still even think about it—still feel like maybe I deserved it, or—”

“Stop,” Kíli interjected.

Fíli looked up, startled eyes wide. His breath caught in his chest—he knew he’d gone too far, told too much. He was such an idiot—completely useless at this—but Kíli caught him off guard again moments later.

“No one,” he said, voice low and serious. “No one deserves to be treated that way. Least of all someone obviously as trusting as you are.” The brunette leaned forward across the table. The rowdy, tough exterior that Fíli had grown to expect had dissolved in favor of something he couldn’t identify. He slowly, gently collected Fíli’s hand in his own—palms rough and warm—and carefully met his eyes before finishing his thought. “He was a fuckin’ coward. End of story.”

Fíli couldn’t break his gaze from the deep hazel of Kíli’s. Something loosened in his chest the longer he stared. He felt Kíli’s thumb run softly over his fingers and he looked down, shocked to see his own hand resting so casually, so comfortably, in the other man’s. It was sudden, but not unwelcome and Fíli did his best to keep any of the inevitable tension from his shoulders or arm. But it never came—in fact, if anything, he wanted better contact with the man and so scooted forward a fraction of an inch. There was something soothing about his touch and those words that he’d been searching for, but could never articulate. Yet here it was—at an Asian diner between the strong grip and deep gaze of a man he barely knew.

“How,” his throat was dry, and he swallowed. “How do you do that?” Fíli asked quietly, not wanting to greatly disturb the moment. “I haven’t told anyone that story, really. Not even Dis knows about that last part.”

Kíli shook his head, straightening a bit to get a more comfortable grip on Fíli’s hand. It seemed that now the first contact had been made, that they were equally reluctant to break it. A silver ring on Kíli’s middle finger bumped against the blonde’s knuckle, and Fíli couldn’t help but notice how warm the grasp had become.

“That’s called empathy, love. I have a bad habit of drawin’ stuff out of people that they didn’t even know was in themselves. Not sure that there’s really a way I could have warned you. It’s just weird. I’ve got this pissed off lookin’ mug, and I don’t know how it is that I seem even remotely approachable. I’m sorry about this—it’s been kind of a rough one for you today, I guess. I didn’t really mean for things to head in this direction when I asked you out last night. If you want, we can finish up here and I’ll take you back.”

But Fíli shook his head. Now that his story was out in the open air, there was something that made him feel lighter, like he had nothing to hide. 

“No, no I—I can’t explain very well, but suffice it to say that I’m more amazed than upset. That thought was just burning up in me today. Guess it had to make its way out somehow, and I appreciate you listening. Really, I do feel better.”

Kíli, for all he claimed that his face was unfriendly, smiled softly and gave Fíli’s hand a light squeeze. 

“Right then. Where were we?” he asked.

“I…I think it’s my turn,” Fíli claimed with a slight nod. “I’ll head in a quieter direction, okay? Back in the car you said you were young, but when did you start playing music exactly?”

“I think I was thirteen,” Kíli responded. “Another topic—do you have any mods?”

“Mods?” Fíli asked, blinking widely. “Like piercings or whatever?”

“Yeah! Where’ve you got extra holes?” Kíli asked with a flirtatious grin, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Fíli rolled his eyes with a laugh and let go of Kíli’s hand reluctantly to unzip his hoodie. He was grateful for the extreme change of topic, taking some time to put his psyche on a gentler track before the show he knew would do him some good.

“No extra holes, but I’ve got a sleeve I’m very slowly working on. It’s a geometric pattern that Dis and I kind of designed together.” He pushed the sleeve of his shirt up, exposing the dark tattoo. Kíli leaned forward, examining the piece closely, grazing his fingertips over Fíli’s bicep and smiling inwardly as his touch raised a line of goosebumps on the blonde’s skin.

“So that’s all the way up, then?” he asked, fingers teasing nearly up to Fíli’s shoulder where he held his shirt sleeve back.

Fíli nodded in response, breath catching a bit as the guitarist’s rough fingertips moved up his arm. His face warmed considerably, and he rearranged his clothing to its original position after Kíli pulled his hand away.

“Yeah,” he answered, voice a little shaky. “From elbow up onto my shoulder and chest. It’s supposed to be reminiscent of armor. The runes are from a medieval ballad that I studied in school for way too long. Did you do much school?”

“Not really,” Kíli answered truthfully, settling his hand back in his lap, the other on the table. “Came to live with Thorin and I did high school or whatever it’s called here. Grudgingly finished, but went straight on to work and music. I’m sure an office couldn’t handle me, and I don’t think I could handle one either. Something about the smell of new carpet and decades-obsolete computer fans makes me want to tear my face off. What’d you study in school—what’s your degree in?”

“Well,” said Fíli sheepishly. “Remember how I said it was useless? Medieval literature and history, and I haven’t finished it, really. A lot’s gone on in the last few years. I take online classes here and there when I can, but the idea of pulling out thousands more in loans is terrifying enough that I can only take the courses when I’ve got the cash saved up. But I’m also kind of trying to think of it more as an exorbitantly expensive hobby, since the likelihood of getting a job with the degree is almost nothing, if I’m honest with myself.”

Kíli smiled and shrugged a bit, pushing his bowl to the edge of the table as a signal that they’d finished and needed the bill. 

“You never know. Maybe I’ll end up paying you to write my songs. I can’t be creative all the time. You’d add that element of historical fact that I don’t always have. But hey, let’s get out of here, yeah? I’ve got a loop to show you, then we’ve a bit of a drive before we get to the pub in Dale.”

As the waitress approached, Fíli reached for the bill, but she stretched her arm around him and handed it to Kíli, who gave her a tip of an imaginary hat. She turned to Fíli as the Irishman fished out his wad of cash, the sight of which made the blonde raise his eyebrows considerably.

“You can make him pay,” Mai said with a smile and a good-natured pat on his shoulder. “He hasn’t brought anyone new in here since that red-headed dragon lady. I like the way you make him smile. Not like her!”

Kíli stuck his tongue out, wrapping the bill around two twenties that he handed to her as they stood up.

“Thanks for putting my business on blast, love! You’ll scare him off before I get the chance to do it myself.”

Fíli tilted his head at this. It seemed strange that someone as vibrant as Kíli hadn’t brought another date by the place he claimed as his favorite restaurant since he’d broken up with Tauriel. He stored the information away—Kíli’s quick reply to the woman an indicator that it may not be best to ask about it just yet. The subject of exes seemed sensitive for the both of them. He imagined Kíli sharing a meal with Tauriel—their personalities mingling over spicy noodles. He sighed inwardly. That pair made more sense than one with himself included. He could almost hear the productive conversation—music and futures and opportunities whispered excitedly over steaming cups of floral jasmine tea. Quickly, however, he was jerked from this daydream as Kíli snagged his hand again, pulling him easily toward the door. They walked closely, shoulders bumping gently at times, and Kíli spoke softly as they exited through a tinkle of wooden chimes.

“I have my reasons for staying single,” he said as if reading Fíli’s mind. As he spoke, he adjusted his grip, lacing his fingers with Fíli’s and giving them a squeeze. “Don’t think on it too deeply.”

Fíli couldn’t help himself. He imagined the man on stage, a sexual icon that young women howled over from the crowd. Their steps scuffed and thudded over the parking lot as they walked to Kíli’s jeep, and Fíli’s thoughts were interrupted as the Irishman let go of him to dart ahead and open the door for him again, shutting it behind him when he’d climbed in. After they’d settled in their seats, however, the warm grip settled in his again, and Fíli’s brows furrowed once more.

“You know,” he said, looking over at the brunette steering the vehicle from the lot. He was momentarily distracted by the stretch of muscle visible as he checked his blind spots. Fíli cleared his throat and tried again. “You know, for such a tough guy, you sure like to hold my hand. I don’t think I’ve had this much sustained human contact in months except for rubbing elbows with some people at the Dragon last night.” He lifted the hand still entwined with Kíli’s, shaking them as if for more pronounced evidence.

“I’m a touchy kind of guy,” the guitarist responded nonchalantly. He wedged his knee under the steering wheel again as he lit his post-lunch cigarette with one hand. “And I like to make my intentions clear. I’m not a fuckin’ sleeze that hides their interests like they’re ashamed of ‘em. So I make signals right out in the open. It’s hard in the scene to like guys, I won’t lie to ya.” He glanced at Fíli for a reaction. When nothing more than a few nods he came, he continued. “But I won’t hide from reality or any of the plethora of bigoted goons out there who think they have something they can say about who I’m goin’ with.”

Fíli was taken aback by the passion with which the Irishman spoke, and was filled with a sense of relief he couldn’t quite place. He wondered, however, about what Kíli had experienced that put him on the defensive so quickly. He watched the way his lips and teeth tightened on the cigarette as he took a heavy drag, obviously a little agitated by the subject.

“I…I appreciate it,” Fíli said finally, nervous to broach the subject again. “I do, honestly. I was straight forward with you, probably a little too blunt if you ask me. So, I guess it means a lot to me that you don’t pussy foot around the issue. How bad has it gotten at shows, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Kíli finished his cigarette, flicking the butt out the window and immediately lighting another. For the duration of the conversation, Fíli noticed that chain smoking was one of Kíli’s most relied upon stress releases.

“Well,” the man started. “I’d say the worst I’ve personally experienced is physical. Fights and stuff. Guy calls you ‘faggot’ or ‘queer’ in the pit and you blast him, you know? Like that bloke you mentioned, the one with all the rings and the shite attitude? He’s one that shows out all the time. Always lookin’ to fuck someone’s day up. And he’s pretty tight-wound, so I’m glad Thorin was there. I’m equal parts lover and fighter, so I’ve gotten my ass handed to me a few times, but what can you do? I’ve heard worse though—guy’s getting jumped after shows, venues refusing to book, or other bands pulling off the bill at last minute. Sometimes a venue will purposefully overbook and then crush your set time so it’s not even worth it to set up. That one kills me, since you lose money that way, what with travel and all. And if you had to pay to get on the ticket, it’s even more of a blow. No cash, no music. You don’t make a ton of money doing this unless you get big.”

Fíli nodded. It seemed that was the general consensus across the board with music, no matter the genre. His mind caught on the unusual priorities that Kíli had set, however. To him, physical violence wasn’t as bad as losing face in the music community, and to Fíli the opposite was true. He knew only too intimately how well situations like that left more than physical scars, but he shrugged mentally, fairly certain that he’d never understand the conflict without the firsthand experience.

“So that’s what you’re aiming for, right? Getting big? Thorin said some scouts were there last night.”

Kíli quickly gave the affirmative, conversation picking up again as he spoke of his passion.

“Mm, yeah. Sindarin records—that’s the big, big time—has been following us a bit. The guy from Rot n’ Roll, Legolas, he’s the son of the biggest producer there. He’s also got his nose so far up Tori’s twat that he likely can’t breathe. I’m not sure how I feel about those two being together. I want on a label for talent, not ‘cause my mate’s fuckin’ some wannabe Elvis with his hands in on business end of the game, you know?”

“You’re really serious about this,” Fíli observed, looking to Kíli with renewed curiosity. “With all of that coming onto your plate, are you sure you’ve got time to be going on dates with nobodies who get picked on at shows and can’t read the band names? I’m not one for…casual, I guess you might call it.”

Kíli laughed, tossing his cigarette. This time he didn’t light another, but his grasp on Fíli’s hand grew a bit tighter. Fíli was entranced again with the play of tendons in the back of the brunette’s hand, and the dusting of hair near his wrist that travelled up under his sleeve. The ring on his finger had shifted, though it obviously hadn’t been removed in months, if not years—the skin underneath a starkly lighter shade than the rest, which was already quite pale. The artist in him ached for a sketch pad. He already knew the exact pressure he’d use to shade the lines between where their fingers twined together, the precise swoop of the pencil to mark down the curve of Kíli’s thumb, the colors that would perfectly express the difference in their skin tones—Kíli’s hand much lighter than the blonde’s summer tan, but his palm slightly wider.

“You know,” said Kíli, his response long in coming. “I’ve been asked that before, but I think that’s part of the reason I like you. You aren’t wrapped up in all of this dramatic band shit. You don’t stink of politics and arguments or money. You’ve got your own thing goin’. It’s—it’s been peaceful almost, this afternoon. It’s not something I get to experience too often. You know, girls have hunted me down…hey! Don’t laugh!” Fíli was sniggering into his hand at the image. “They have! I’ve gotten rung up in the middle of the night, nothing but giggling and breathing on the other end. Not too many ways to escape it all but runnin’ away and changin’ your name, or workin’ in a god forsaken cubicle farm instead. I’d like to keep my face firmly on my head, remember?”

Fíli pulled his lower lip under his teeth, biting it gently, and threw out another haphazard compliment.

“I’d prefer it if you kept it there too. It’s…what did you say earlier? Rather attractive? Hm, you even make me want to paint again, I can’t think in anything but colors when I’m talking to you.”

Kíli laughed heartily, and then, proving once again that he’d been raised by Thorin, changed topic at break neck speed, launching them back into the simpler question game.

“Well then, what’s your favorite color?” he asked, thumb gently rolling over the blonde’s.

“Red,” he replied. “Yours?”

“Green. Favorite animal?”

“Lions. Same to you.”

“Ravens and crows, they’re smart and creepy. Can you drive stick?”

“Yes, but not very well. I stall at lights. Are you allergic to anything?”

“Any food that doesn’t contain alcohol.”

At this, Fíli chuckled, remembering the way Kíli and finished drink after drink the night before, never becoming awkward or sloppy in a way that would otherwise make Fíli uncomfortable. He watched the city pass by through the jeep’s windows while Kíli drove, street signs and advertisements blurring together as he reveled in the unfamiliar feelings of happiness and excitement that percolated warmly around his heart. He couldn’t help but return the soft strokes against Kíli’s hand, noting the way they fit so well together. He laughed again, almost silently, expelling some of his giddiness in a breath of energy.

“Are you top or bottom?” came the voice from next to him.

And Fíli’s laugh turned into a choke that left him gasping as they rolled through downtown.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for such a humongous delay on this chapter. I have a brand spankin' new job and am finishing my MA thesis, so time has gotten fairly crunched. Things should come easier now, however, since working a normal 8-5 encourages my writing.


	6. A Dangerous Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and Kili continue on their date, but things take a dark turn when Fili is on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for graphic depiction of drug use, blood, and lots of hurting.

Fíli screwed his eyes shut tight, coughing hard into his hands as he choked. He could hear Kili laughing in the seat next to him, and the man took a moment before reaching over and banging a hand against Fíli’s back to ease the coughing.

“I’m sorry, what?” Fíli asked with a deep breath of air, wondering briefly if he’d misheard.

“I said,” Kili repeated, barely containing his mirth. “Are you top or bottom?”

Fíli stammered momentarily, eyes wide, and his pulse rushed in his ears before Kili let him off the hook of his joke.

“Kidding, love. I’m kidding. You really think I’d outright ask a thing like that? Better to leave that to guessing. It’s more fun to find out in the act! The look on your face is priceless, you know.”

Kili let out the laugh he’d held back as Fíli unleashed an exasperated huff. The blond turned back to the window, watching the unfamiliar scenery roll by.

“You probably think any look on my face is great, from the way you carry on,” he replied teasingly.

Kili’s upfront personality was contagious and he couldn’t help but give in to the way it ramped up his mood. A warm hand in his, a new and delicious lunch experience, and a whole night ahead of them…It had been a long time since anything so all-around pleasant had happened to him, and the feeling left him blissed-out and ready for adventure as Kili showed him what the city had to offer.

“Okay,” the Irishman started. “You’ve gotta know the pub strip, yeah?”

Fíli shook his head with a small shrug. 

“No, not really. I tend to get of work too late to really enjoy it, so I guess I just go straight home.

“Really?” Kili asked in disbelief. “What do you do when you wanna go out with your mates? When you’re bored, or sad, or happy, or just needin’ a drink?”

“Well,” Fíli said, looking bashfully at his lap for a moment. “I draw, I guess. Or I read—I read a lot, I suppose. You forget that I haven’t been particularly social since I moved here. Everything’s new to me, even if I’ve physically been here awhile.”

Kili nodded as he listened, making a mental check list of the places he wanted to show the man. He began pointing every which way as the impromptu tour began.

“Well, you have to remember Manwë’s then. Best place to get a hearty meat and potatoes meal with a pint of the dark stuff. Oh, and then there’s Black Stable. They’ve got a formal-wear vibe, martinis and cigars, if that’s what you need, but it’s a little too double-O seven if you ask me. Southwest Best is good food, and if you need to get something to eat on the cheap, Round the Bend is right there too—just a greasy spoon. Of course, it’s all pretty good when you’re hungry, and there’s other things scattered about in here too, but I’m not one for walkin’ the strip after a pint or five,” Kili said with a wink. “Cab service is alright down here. There’s the Dragon from last night, and a luthier over there on the next street—he fixed up a deep gouge I got on Sligo after I…”

“Sligo?” Fíli interrupted. He shifted in his seat a bit when Kili nodded and briefly let go of his hand to light another cigarette. It was only a moment, however, before the Irishman sought his grasp again, his thumb immediately picking back up on its soothing rhythm across Fíli’s knuckles. 

“Sligo, yeah. It’s the name of one of my Ibanez guitars. Thought I was bein’ clever—it has these abalone inlays on the fret board. Back home, Sligo the town’s got all these shells from the coast, I figured it’d be cool. It was the first thing I bought when I came here and had saved up some cash. Must’ve been feelin’ homesick.

Fíli blinked a moment, thinking on the name’s significance. It was clear to him that Kili was touching on another delicate topic—the cigarette made extra trips between his lips and its place on the steering wheel, and Kili’s unused leg shifted and bounced. The significance of the story, however, left him a little baffled and he voiced the only thing he could think in the moment of silence.

“Not to sound stupid but…why do you name your guitars?”

Kili’s lips thinned as he took a deep drag on his cigarette. He blew the smoke through his nose as he pondered his answer.

“It helps me to get in to the music, I guess. I like to think of them all as having their own personalities. It’s just a thing I’ve always done. Even started calling my da’s ‘Sunny’ after I’d played around with it for a while. Ori doesn’t do it, but he sees instruments the way programmer guys see code. He’s totally in the Matrix. For me, I’ve got to get to know a piece—I work with them like a partner. He says it’s a load of shit, you know? Too much like believing in magic.”

“Does the naming make a difference, then?” Fíli asked, one eyebrow raised in question. He liked the idea of Kili picking out guitars like some people gathered new friends, and a small smile curved his lips at the thought. He didn’t name is pencils or paints, he used them up too quickly and they already came with their own—Blackwing, Palomino, Ticonderoga, ultramarine…

“I like to think so, yeah,” Kili answered, bringing Fíli back into the moment. His voice was soft and deep, a tone Fíli was beginning to recognize as the voice the man used when he spoke of something about which he was sensitive.

“Then that’s what matters, right?” Fíli said matter-of-factly. “Your music isn’t really about what other people are doing in their processes; it’s about what feels good and makes you want to keep playing, so I don’t see why anyone could say shit about it. I mean, it’s none of my business, but I think it’s pretty cool. Coming from my lit background, naming has a lot of power—both for good and bad.”

Kili hummed thoughtfully, smoking and looking ahead at the road. Fíli noticed the corners of his hazel eyes crinkled when he narrowed them, rolling his tongue around the inside of his mouth. He could get lost in Kili’s habits, he thought. There was never a moment when he wasn’t animated. After a while, the man spoke.

“It’s going to take more than a few names to make this label thing happen, I think. Last night might really have put us in the right direction if the Sindarin scouts saw the show. Plus, if we can sell a bit more merch, then we’ll have a good surplus if we need to stay off the circuit while we cut the new LP. It’s almost finished, really, though I’ll probably never be happy with it.”

Fíli looked at the guitarist appraisingly. Kili wasn’t particularly loquacious when it came to describing himself in a list of adjectives, but it became obvious from the way he spoke of his career that he was headstrong and passionate.

“I take it you’re a bit of a perfectionist, then? You guys were great last night—”

“Bomb was slow,” Kili interrupted, and Fíli sidetracked his compliments to listen. “Two songs Dwalin had to get him back on track. And I let it out when I should have muted during ‘Infernal Hurricane’—really muddled up the sound. It’s little things like that that can really make or break a song for fans on a studio album, you know? Tori was late on a cue and almost dropped the pick up on—I’m rambling aren’t I?” the guitarist stopped, a slightly worried glance meeting Fíli’s steady blue gaze. Fíli let out a small laugh and nodded.

“A bit, yeah, but don’t stop on my account. From the crowd, I’d have never noticed any of those things. You packed that place with so much energy no one could possibly know you messed up unless you full out stopped the song. Cut yourself some slack.”

Kili took a hard drag and tossed the butt of his cigarette through the gap at the top of the window. The circles he’d been leisurely tracing on Fíli’s hand turned into agitated drumming as he continued.

“There’s no such thing as slack here—you gotta be hard in this scene. Even if no one in the venue realizes something’s gone tits up, I still know it happened. We’re at such a precarious point that it feels like the smallest thing could send us over the edge, for better or for worse. And when I notice that kind of shit at such a critical time, I feel like someone isn’t putting everythin’ they can into it.”

“Sounds like this is really serious, then,” Fíli responded. Kili’s demeanor had shifted slightly, a light crease forming between his brows. Fíli could almost see the previous night’s show passing through the microscope lens of the guitarist’s mind, but he was caught staring again when Kili looked to him. This time, however, he held it, tilting his head to hopefully prompt and answer from the man.

“It is, yeah,” Kili said, looking back through the jeep’s windshield. “I mean, this is my life! It’s how I make my money for the most part, I travel for the band, I have a shite apartment so I can get better equipment, not to mention my personal privacy kind of disappeared for the sake of lettin’ people take pictures whenever they want. But haven’t you been like this about anything? School or a job? I can’t imagine you as this hermit you described.”

Fíli thought guiltily on his half-finished degree. It would take two more years of hard work to wrap things up at the university, and without the time or money, and the constant worry over the job field, he wondered if he’d ever go back. He wasn’t sure he even had the discipline to sit down and study or write a paper any longer.

“You know,” he started, peering down at their joined hands. “Sometimes it feels like I’ve completely lost my passion for college or grad school. Other times I want to go back, but I kind of talk myself out of it, you know? There’s no jobs, I’m already in debt, I’m not particularly good at school in the first place…” he trailed off with a slight grimace, remembering the fight he’d told Kili about that afternoon. “Ha,” he continued. “There’s my ex talking.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, love,” Kili picked up. “You talk about school like something stuck. What’d you want to go to school for—like, what’d you want to be when you grew up?”

“A flying tiger with white fur,” Fíli answered truthfully, relishing the large smile and huffed laugh that burst from the Irishman. He continued on. “Well, I guess I was pretty serious about it all. I liked the structure school brought to my life, since I was seriously lacking in that department at home—no matter what home I was at. I kind of felt at peace in a desk—even better when I was leading a class though. That’s sort of what I want to do in the long run…be a professor. It gives you summers off so I can still keep up with photography and painting, but it’s really fulfilling for the rest of the year. Other than the assholes who give you a bad eval at the end of the semester, of course.”

“A professor, huh?” Asked Kili with an excited laugh. “With the pipe and elbow patches? You gotta teach all these kids how to know when a cigar isn’t just a cigar, then get to the end of the year and have em write ‘suck it’ on the slip?”

The two bantered back and forth for the remainder of the drive, and after a while, all of the nervousness of their first few hours together floated away. Fíli was amazed to hear of Kili’s thirteen guitars and one lonely mandolin, while Kili was equally tickled to hear Fíli recite the first several lines of Beowulf in Old English. Within an hour, though it hardly felt like any time at all, they’d arrived at a large building with an enormous parking garage and narrow side lot, both of which were rapidly filling up. A reflective sign was propped against the lot’s gate, glaring “CREW ONLY” to keep concert goers from entering. A tall, blinking sign with a marquee beneath advertised the venue’s name above a listing of bands performing that night.

“The Forge?” Fíli asked curiously. He let go of Kili’s hand, stretching a bit in his seat to shake off the travel-stiffness that had settled in his limbs. 

“Mm,” Kili answered. Fíli could sense the subtle change in the guitarist that told him that man was shifting into gear for the show. “It’s a good spot for tonight. Dale’s a little bit bigger than home. Saturday show means more people come, and Forge’s capacity is around fifteen hundred. Probably won’t fill it tonight, but after ticket sales and the size of the place, we’re expecting at least nine hundred or a thousand.”

Fíli’s eyes widened and he worried his lip between his teeth, eyeing the venue with some apprehension.

“A thousand? Well, with those numbers I guess you can also expect to find my body somewhere in the wreckage tomorrow. I’m not sure I’ve ever been to a show this size.”

Kili began an answer somewhat distractedly, but when he caught the nervous look on Fíli’s face he directed his attention back to their date.

“Nah, you’ll be fine. We’ll get you posted up somewhere so you can enjoy yourself. This is a date, remember? I can’t just bring you here and shove off. And it’s not as if I’m just dragging you here for a body to fill space. We, uh…kind of have that covered.”

The guitarist’s final statement was made as he gestured to the slow-moving line of vehicles filing into the parking structure. Upon direction from a man in a yellow vest waving a flashlight, Kili swung the jeep around the back of the large building and slid into a spot next to an SUV with a long trailer attached. Fíli, meanwhile, had retreated into his imagination somewhat. A body to fill space? He hadn’t thought of that as a possibility, but it made sense. There was so little that he could possibly offer a man of Kili’s position, realistically. As his mood shifted toward the insecure, his thoughts ran in circles, self-doubt to embattled reassurance about Kili’s interest in him and back again, and his hand slowly came up to toy with the braid near his right ear. Kili turned in his seat, fishing the package out of his jacket pocket and lighting a final cigarette before raising his eyes from the flame.

“Stick with me or one of the guys for load in, yeah?” he told Fíli, who looked a little green around the gills. “It’ll help you get a good spot for wherever you want to set up during the show. I’d say hang around back stage but there isn’t much of one here. If you get in the way on the sides, a sound guy might knock your head in. They’re a testy bunch. Ready?”

Fíli swallowed quietly, gaze lighting upon Dwalin through the window as he opened a side door to the building and kicked down the small fold-out peg to prop it open. The burly man caught his glance and gave a bright smile and friendly wave, motioning for the two to join him. Fíli released a breath and looked to the Irishman, steeling himself.

“Yeah, I suppose. As ready as I can be.”

Fíli popped open the door and stepped to the ground clumsily, legs tingling from the long ride in the jeep, a line of road grit appearing on his calf as his jeans snagged on the vehicle’s frame. He stumbled, but in an instant he was steadied, Kili’s rough fingers catching his forearm to keep him from hitting pavement. The blond quickly regained his balance, face burning as he bent to brush the dirt from his pants, coming face to sole with the thick, dark leather of Kili’s boot-clad feet. He took another deep breath, righted himself, and tried again.

“Okay, cool. We can pretend that didn’t happen.”

Kili blinked and barked a laugh, clapping Fíli on the back.

“What didn’t happen?” he asked, playing along to assuage some of Fíli’s worry and embarrassment.

Weaving their way out from between the vehicles, they headed toward Dwalin, who leaned forward and gave Fíli a hearty pat on his shoulder as though they’d met years, and not just 24 hours, beforehand.

“Fíli, right? Good to see you again! I see Kili’s got his hooks in you alreadyyy…” he drew up the last sound as Kili tried to covertly slide a hand across his throat in a cutting motion, but it was too late. The younger guitarist hid the “cut” hand behind his head in a fake neck rub, and gave another laugh as Fíli looked between him and the larger man.

“Guess my business really is on blast, today, huh?” he said, uneasily catching Fíli’s blue eyes. “Okay, enough about my hooks though. Have you been in with Bard?”

Dwalin nodded, straight back to business, and led them toward the trailer, its doors standing open to reveal multitudes of large black amplifiers and what looked like miles of cable hanging from sturdy iron loops.

“Bard’s already got his board going and he’s ready when we are. On at 8:30, a little earlier than I’d like, with a ten minute load in and out. Set’s forty five. Leg’s got direct supporter this time, but I’m sure it’ll hit capacity in the next hour. Don’t know if it’s us, Rot ‘n Roll, or Azanulbizar that’s got the draw, but I’m not complaining. Here.”

Dwalin capped off his rundown of the evening by tossing Fíli a hoodie followed by a bundle of extension cords. The blond looked at him owlishly, eyeing the items. Dwalin smiled broadly.

“Put it on! It’ll let the guys at the door know you’re with us. It’s good to have some extra hands, too, since Tori’s got the ol’ LSD.”

Kili perked up at this, leaning out from where he’d hopped up into the trailer, a joking smile on his face.

“She does?” He asked, sounding hopeful over the slide and rustle of large plastic bins.

“Lead singer disorder, ass hat. Now get out of the box and show Fíli where to put the gear. Take the merch tubs with you and get the table set up. I’ve got to get our sound bites to Bard. He wants to test some of the stuff early. Move it!”

Fíli still stood, confused, with an arm load of cords and power strips. The sun was beginning to dip, making their shadows long on the pavement. Kili smiled, flicking his cigarette butt away and hefting two stacked bins, leading him toward the door where Dwalin had come from with a “follow me” motion of his head.

“Lead singer disorder?” Fíli asked, grateful to have an assignment to occupy the short amount of time before the show began.

“Mm,” Kili answered monosyllabically, struggling a bit with speaking as he carried the heavier load. “Singer only has a mic, so she thinks she doesn’t have to help with heavy—shit—” he punctuated these words with a hoist and drop of the bins on an empty table near the side of the open floor area.

There were four tables in a long row, three of which were covered in merchandise advertising the other two bands and the venue itself. The Irishman turned to Fíli and collected the cords, running them along the back wall until he found an unoccupied outlet and plugged them in. A strand of red lights that Fíli hadn’t noted before sprung to life in the bundle and Kili handed it back to him.

“You’re an artist—try looping these around the back drop there. We hang shirts from it—oh! I’ll be right back,” Kili said as he jogged over to the door that had fallen shut as Dwalin hauled several guitar cases through.

Fíli watched as the younger man took the cases and Dwalin shoved the door back open with a glare. The blond made a mental note not to get on Dwalin’s bad side if a simple misbehaving door could garner such a stern look. Turning back, he sized up the table, setting the bundle of lights and cords on its surface. He inspected the hoodie Dwalin had tossed at him; a design spanned across the back in sharp relief, and he slowly picked out “Dragon Desolation” from the crisscrossing lines and flourishes. Shucking his plain sweatshirt and hanging it on the back of a folding aluminum chair behind the table, Fíli pulled the new one on, pushing the sleeves up and giving himself a once over to check the fit. 

As he worked on the light placement, his eyes kept straying to the band as more tech came through the door. Kili was quick on his feet, despite his heavy boots. The man gently, almost reverently, removed his guitars from their cases, stashing the large boxes behind the padded stand that held several of the instruments. Fíli recognized the one from the previous night, its black surface shining and highlighting the too-numerous strings that stretched down the fret board. He lifted the light strand, weaving it in and around the cage-like back board between the table and wall, attaching a few feet before looking back at the crew at work. At some point, Kili had shed his jacket, baring solid, pale arms beneath it. Fíli felt his face go hot as he caught the glimpse—eyes wide and mouth nearly open. He’d known the man had to be strong, but the smooth play of muscle beneath his skin was hypnotizing and far more than he’d expected. His imagination bubbled, surging impure thoughts to the front of his mind—cuddling into the guitarist’s embrace on a couch with a movie, being thrown onto his bed in the heat of the moment, dragging his fingers down strong forearms as he—Fíli’s face burned all the hotter and he looked away, back to the task at hand.

“You’re drooling,” came a quiet voice from his left. 

He barely heard it over the noise of the venue, but it startled him nonetheless, and he jumped, nearly dropping the dwindling bundle of cords as Ori held his hands wide in an unthreatening pose. He tried to look nonchalant, but he’d been caught and he knew it, so he redoubled his efforts in hanging the rest of the lights.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he final said, knowing it was a lame cover. Fear and shame gnawed at him.

The young musician gave him a blank stare, walking around his side and popping the lid from one of the bins, removing some of the contents to place the apparel, patches, and other objects in neat piles on the table top.

“Yes, you do. You’re staring at Kili and if you do so much more intently, he’ll burst into flames. Kind of like your face is doing now.”

Fíli clamped his mouth shut, his hands faltering and clumsily draping a coil of lights on the board. He chewed the inside of his cheek while he thought of an escape. For months, nigh years, he’d kept his personal preferences hidden away from the eyes of anyone who would possibly judge him—anyone who could do him harm, he’d encountered all too much of that in the last decade—but now three times in a weekend he’d been outed in the one scene that he felt least likely accept him, and definitely the one he’d never had the least inclination to be joining. He sighed, running his tongue over the bitten spot in his mouth. It was all absurd. Going to these shows, accepting a date with a guy like Kili, thinking he wasn’t so painfully awkward that he could fit in with the crowd and socialize like a normal person for once—all of it. Images of the fights Kili had told him about leapt to his mind unbidden, and he bit his lip before bracing himself and looking back at Ori to gauge his reaction. The young man was still emptying bins, smiling quietly and shooting sideways glances over at Fíli.

“You’re…you’re teasing me,” Fíli guessed, voice suspicious as he finished hanging the lights. His shoulders remained tense and ready to defend.

Ori smiled a little wider, nearly shouting over the noise of the crowd, which had grown considerably since they’d arrived.

“I never tease,” he said. “I only point out the obvious for comedic effect. You were drooling. Please, do you think you’re the first one to have fallen prey to Celtic Thunder over there? I had to live through the beginning AND the end of his relationship with Tori.” The young man winced a moment, small features pinching. “You do know about them, right? I didn’t let some big cat out of the bag just now?”

Fíli shook his head, releasing his pent up breath. Again his assumptions had been just that—and it was everything he could do not to burst into relieved laughter.

“Yes—well, no? I know about them, and all cats are still safely in their bags. We…talked a lot today. Sort of part of a date, tonight—the show, that is.” He blurted the last thought quickly, attempting to take a leaf from Kili’s book and not skirt around the issue. If everyone was as accepting as they had been so far, Fíli felt he was obligated to be as truthful as they’d been with him. A lick of nerves drove up his back, however, at the thought of Tauriel’s opinion on the matter. Few things were as frightening as jilted exes, he though, shuddering internally at the memory of the night he’d nearly fled for his life.

“Ahh, thought as much,” Ori replied. “You just behave yourself, alright? And make sure Kee does too, or else you might find yourself on a bit of a wild ride that’s hard to get off.”

Fíli tilted his head at this, accepting the hanger and t-shirt Ori handed him and hanging it firmly on the wire back board.

“A wild ride? I’m pretty sure I’m already on one. I get that we don’t know each other very well, and you probably wouldn’t realize it from last night, but I’m not particularly outgoing. The fact that I’m here at these shows, saw you guys, and ended up where I am now—hanging shirts and lights and wearing this hoodie—is completely driven by some force far outside of my control. Or by the fact that I have a hard time saying ‘no’ to anyone that asks me for something.”

“Can I have a hundred dollars, then?” Ori asked earnestly.

Fíli responded with a roll of his eyes, and Ori cracked his small smile. Fíli was getting more comfortable around him, and it was an interesting thing to feel he may have found a friend in so short a time span. The younger man continued handing bits of merchandise to the blond to hang up. Fíli saw a chance to learn more about his elusive date, and plunged into questioning the bassist.

“How long have you known Kili?” he asked, feeling out the situation.

“Four or five years,” Ori replied, not looking away from his work. 

“How’d you meet? Were you friends before the band?”

“Friends, yeah. High school. But is that what you really want to ask about?”

Fíli’s eyebrows jumped in surprise at Ori’s perceptiveness, and he laughed a bit at how easily he was figured out, shaking his head.

“Is there anything I should know about him? I’m kind of coming off a rough patch, and I’m not trying to get involved with it again, you know?” It felt strange to voice the concern—like he wasn’t giving Kili the proper chance he deserved. Guilt tinged the look he gave Ori as the man began his response.

“There we go. I guess you already know that he’s a true musician—way talented, more than a little anal retentive, and he really should go to school for it like I did. He’s a partier, too,” Ori said honestly. “It’s gotten him into some trouble before—not jail time or anything. Just personal trouble. He’s dedicated—puts a hundred percent into anything he’s passionate about, and right now that’s the band. You might find he gets…he gets this far-awayness to him when he’s on the grind, but he always comes back when he’s finally nailed whatever he was working on. Problem is that it might take a few days.” He paused for a moment, a thoughtful look over his face, and snapped the lid back onto the now empty bin, sliding it beneath the table before speaking again. “He’s sad a lot, which makes him hard to approach. He puts up this party-boy charming front and thinks no one notices, but we all do. When he’s saddest is when he parties hardest, but also when he plays best. Sometimes he goes too hard, and we have to sit on him for a weekend or two to make sure he stays home and shapes up. It’s not often or anything, but it’s happened, and that’s enough that some of us keep a closer eye on him than he thinks.”

Fíli listened intently. The two of them leaned together on the table, watching other band members flying in and out of the building, quickly amassing an impossible amount of music tech and other gear around the sides and back of the stage. It was an easy camaraderie he shared with Ori, and it was very welcome in what felt like some kind of time warp. Months of self-induced isolation was coming to an end, but it all seemed to be coming at once, and it was easy enough to feel overwhelmed and exhausted by the slightest foray into friendship. Fíli sighed, crossing his arms, and his eyes found Kili again in the small crowd, forehead glistening with sweat. The man was smiling, roving from person to person like a bee in a hollyhock garden as he delivered cords, flash drives, bottles of water, and anything else he or his mates might need. He quickly disappeared deeper back stage, and Fíli wondered briefly how it was that a person so driven could have anything that could be construed as a shady past that would have distracted him from his goals.

“I know it’s hard to believe, seeing him so into things,” Ori said quietly, gaining the blond’s attention once more, but Fíli shook his head.

“I think I saw it earlier. We went to lunch, and a couple times he’d skirt around a question or spend some time completely quiet—all serious brows and stoic expression. He rubs the back of his neck when he’s uncomfortable.”

Ori nodded, standing straight and taking a step in the direction of the stage as Bombur made his way out of the sea of crew and waved him over.

“Yeah,” he answered. “That’s what it looks like.” He gave half a smile. “I think you guys will be fine—Kili needs someone perceptive and gentle like you. Not one of these hardasses around here that take and take and never give or use him for a spot on the ticket, you know? It’s happened a time or two. Just don’t take any of his bullshit either, okay? He’s one for blunt and open communication. Says it’s because he’s too thick to pick up on subtle cues.”

Fíli smiled, cheeks picking up only a hint of color at Ori’s honesty.

“Alright, I’ll do my best. Thanks for all of that, Ori. I guess I didn’t expect such a real answer. A lot of notions I had are kind of floating away these last two days. It feels good.”

“Don’t mention it,” the smaller man replied. “Hey, grab that cash box, okay? We’ve got places to be for sound check and whatnot. Lurch over there,” he gestured toward a large staff member near the end of the tables with beefy arms crossed over his chest, “will keep an eye on things. But rule number one is never leave your cash anywhere unattended. Especially not with door guys!” he hollered the last part with a joking smile, and the large man scowled, flipping them the bird before standing back at relaxed attention, eyes scouring the growing crowd for potential trouble.

Fíli picked up the black, metal box and followed Ori to the side of the stage where dark curtains hid the space from view. The bassist flipped one open, holding it for Fíli to walk through. The scene was a jungle—artificial fog rolled in thin wisps around his ankles and the flashes of strobe tests lit the area like heat lightning while vine-like cables bound with colorful tape led to a sound board where Dwalin and Bombur stood. They pointed to levels and spoke over each other as a tall, harassed looking man with dark, curling hair and a crooked nose adjusted knobs and buttons.

“Look,” he blurted when their input became too much. “I know how to do my fucking job. I guarantee your drop will have the crowd shitting in their britches. I can’t do anything else with it. Just plug in and get the fuck off my ass!”

Fíli realized then that Kili hadn’t exactly been exaggerating when he’d described sound crew as a rough bunch earlier and decided that this man must be the Bard that Dwalin had named. He felt a tug at his sleeve and leaned down to where Ori spoke quietly near his shoulder.

“That’s Bard,” the bassist confirmed. “He’s the head sound guy here at the Forge. Don’t ever touch his board. Don’t ever touch his daughters—or son! And don’t—ever—mention Thorin around him. They have a ‘history,’ as I understand it. As you can see, even Kili gives him kind of a wide berth.”

Fíli nodded as he readjusted his grip on the cash box and continued following Ori, feeling a bit like he had a babysitter, but grateful that he could avoid awkwardly standing around. Before they got too far, however, the roar of a guitar ripped from the amplifier closest to the edge of the stage, and Fíli jumped hard, despite all of the other noise of the venue. He whipped his head toward the source of the sound.

Kili stood under a harsh, blue glow from the overhead lights, and the corded muscles of his forearms rippled and bunched as his fingers played lightly over the guitar’s strings. Fíli openly gaped, taking in the gorgeous sight that would have left anyone’s jaw on the floor. The Irishman’s hair hung loose, shadowing his face in the surreal lighting. Fíli felt as though they were under water, or on another planet altogether as he watched the other man. It was clear that nothing else on Earth existed while Kili played. At times he even closed his eyes, serenely plucking single notes or a series of melodies that smashed out of the amps with an unusually delicate and accurate intensity. Leaning forward into the mic, the guitarist spoke something Fíli couldn’t hear, and Bard responded into a headset—a stream of technological jargon he couldn’t follow that came through a muffled monitor speaker in front of the guitarist. After kicking a pedal on the floor near the mic, Kili played just a few more licks, finally looking up. His dark eyes travelled over the space around them, concentrating until they landed on Fíli, standing stiffly amongst the jostling stage crew with Ori at his side. The blond nearly fainted when a smile flashed over the other man’s face and he gestured for Fíli to join him. Fíli balked, a small frown forming as he looked from Ori to Kili, then held up the cash box to show he was on task.

“Give it to Ori! C’mere!” Kili shouted, raising a hand to his mouth to aim the sound, though Fíli still could barely hear him over the crowd and distance.

Fíli looked to his companion again, hoping to gain an excuse not to walk up on the stage, but the man was already wresting the rattling box from his grasp, nodding in the guitarist’s direction. 

“Go on. I’m feeling like playing the instigator tonight,” he said, putting his elbow in the small of Fíli’s back and giving him a light shove as the blond shot him a scandalized look over his shoulder.

Without a reason to deny Kili’s call, Fíli turned back to the stage. Energy from the crowd seemed to writhe up under the curtain that kept the full stage blocked off from the concert goers. He placed one booted foot on the edge and hoisted himself up onto the raised surface. Slowly he picked his way across the cable-strewn floor, careful not to trip again, and didn’t look up until he reached Kili. When he did, however, he thanked whatever force was out there that the blue light would obscure the flush of his face that so often betrayed his nervousness. 

“Wow,” Kili shouted over the noise, in the same joking tone that Fíli had nearly grown used to hearing. “Never seen someone walk toward me like the hanged man to the gallows before.” 

He leaned up, speaking at a quieter volume near Fíli’s ear and sending a rush of goosebumps down the blond’s neck and side as his warm breath passed over Fíli’s skin.

“Relax, you’re fine. I just need you to hold this while I voice check. Seems like Bard forgot I’m not some hulking behemoth like the rest of you lot.”

“Hold…?” Fíli asked, dazed by Kili’s proximity that filled his nose with the man’s scent. Cigarettes and warmth from the exertion of the load in, the spicy scent of the pho restaurant from that afternoon, a mild cologne or aftershave that mixed with the bright tone of laundry soap.

“Yeah, hold. Lean down, love.”

Fíli did as instructed, feeling physically incapable of doing anything else as he was so out of his element and bewildered by everything that was happening around him. There was too much going on—the prickling nerves of a first date, the awkwardness of close contact with a new interest, the crackling in his ear as the crowd picked up a loud chant—and the sudden heaviness of a warm guitar strap being laid over his neck and shoulder.

“This is Sligo,” Kili announced. “Be careful with him, yeah?”

Fíli stood helplessly, eyes wide as Kili gave him a wink, his strong hands lingering slightly on the blond’s neck as he smoothed the strap. After he pulled away, he quickly hopped over to a standing mic, adjusting its height considerably and speaking into it again. Fíli felt like he’d been left holding a bomb with no clue as to whether it was set to go off. He was shocked at the heavy weight of the guitar, having only ever held an acoustic while sitting on the floor of a friend’s house years before, and marveled inwardly at Kili’s ability to swing the instrument around with seeming ease as he did on stage the night before. He had to have been exhausted afterward, but Fíli would never have guessed it with his easy demeanor while they had spoken over cigarettes and beer. 

Looking down at the beast that hung in front of his stomach, its lustrous shell inlays reflecting the eerie stage lighting like ghosts in the fog, he couldn’t decide whether to inspect the instrument or watch Kili in action. The knobs, strings, switches, and shining pickups were endlessly enticing, but the thought of accidentally making a sound over the live amplifier or somehow jostling the strap and dropping the guitar kept his hands carefully under the roundness of the thing’s body—far away from any strings or other noise-making apparatuses. He looked to Kili instead, puffing a small laugh as the man made exaggerated faces and rubbed at his jaw to stretch the muscles before voice checking. Their eyes met, and Kili’s wide-mouthed stretch became an experiment to see how far he could stick his tongue out under the guise that it was part of the exercise, and Fíli blushed at the thoughts the results brought to his imagination. Ori’s comment played through his head once more—“you’re drooling”—as he stared nearly agape at the Irishman going about his work. 

Their conversation across the stage was entirely visual—held by nothing but Kili’s teasing and energetic body language and Fíli’s reciprocation, the boldness of which had the blond nearly faint with its uncharacteristic suggestiveness toward the other man. The black bulb of the mic rested on Kili’s lips as he finally locked unmoving hazel eyes onto Fíli’s, little but darkness under his furrowed brows, and roared into the device, amplifying the growl that had originally startled Fíli into this foray in the first place until it seemed to vibrate along his skin like violet electricity. The dragon had come alive again, burning brightly in the guitarist’s gaze.

“Check!”

And the crowd cheered in tumultuous response.

***  
Dwalin and Bombur stood on either side of a very satisfied looking Ori, his arms crossed over his small chest. 

“Is that Fíli?” Dwalin asked, perplexed as to why the young man would be on stage so close to show time.

“It is,” Ori responded blithely. 

“And is he holding…”

“Yes,” Ori answered, his smile growing wider as he waited for the large man to notice one key detail of the scene that played out before them.

“Wait a minute, Kili willingly let another person touch…Jesus, is that Sligo?”

Ori could do nothing but laugh for a moment, the look on his bandmate’s face too entertaining to do anything else. At any moment he was sure he’d have to catch the man’s eyeballs as they fell out of his head. 

“I think Kili’s got it bad for this guy,” he told the older man, wiping moisture from the corners of his eyes as he regained control of himself. “He didn’t even let Tori touch his guitars until a few weeks in—and Sligo never!”

It was a moment before Bombur chimed in, twisting the end of his gingery beard in one large hand and looking contemplatively at the courtship of the two on stage.

“Isn’t there a stand right there next to the amp?”

Watching Kili’s attempts at wooing a new interest was too much for some, and Dwalin roared with laughter, slapping his knee as he bent double. Ori crossed his arms again, one eyebrow raised over a smirk as he spoke quietly to himself.

“Smooth move, Celtic Thunder.”

***

Fíli’s eyes widened at what seemed like a challenge. He thought of fire, destruction, and large cats on the plains staring down their prey. The energy of the moment was overwhelming, and he trembled slightly until he shook his head and released his breath in a long, calming blow, biting his lip as he looked away from figure at the microphone. Sligo hung heavy around his neck, the strap biting into his skin and he shrugged under it to relieve the tension. He looked from the guitar back to Kili, whose grip on the standing mic had loosened a bit as he finished the voice check.

When the guitarist released the mic, he stood for a moment and rubbed the back of his neck, watching the curtain before him wave slightly. It appeared to Fíli that he was listening to the crowd’s response, and so he searched for the smile on the man’s face when he turned back, but there was none. Kili patted his pants pocket and walked back to the blond before he spoke. 

“Sligo looks at home on you, love, but I gotta take him back for now. Everyone else is all set, apparently. I’m going out to the car park for a minute for some zen time before we’re on, but I’ll be back, okay? Are you alright to stay with Ori and the gang?”

Fíli tilted his head at this, but nodded, and the guitarist helped him slowly lift the instrument from around his neck. Their fingers touched momentarily on the body, and another glance passed between them as it happened, sparking Kili’s fleeting smirk. He placed the instrument in the nearby stand and stepped confidently across the stage and over the sea of cables back to the side—Fíli picked his way through right behind him, peeking only a few times at the attractive sight that the position afforded him. It wouldn’t do to trip and fall flat because he was distracted by Kili’s ass.

When they reached the edge and joined Kili’s bandmates, the guitarist beat a quick retreat, despite Tauriel’s yell of “We’re on in fifteen, Kili!”

“Just a few minutes,” he reassured them as he left; out of their view, he ran his fingers lightly over Fíli’s hip and the hem of the sweatshirt that bore his band’s insignia. He smiled, mouthing “looks good” with an appraising glance, and walked away, out the door and into the growing dark of the evening.

***  
Kili wove his way between a few crew members who still milled about outside of the building, their shouts of “Hey Special K!” and “Kili, my man!” acknowledged only with brief waves or nods as the guitarist moved with purpose toward his jeep. A roiling nausea had built up in the hours since he’d last gotten straight, and he could feel the slow throb deep in his joints that screamed at him for something, anything, to impede the tortuous arrival of detox. 

His path finally cleared, and the speed of his steps increased to almost a jog as he reached the black jeep, grabbing the driver-side door handle. As he popped the latch, he was almost too late to swing his head to the side as his lunch came burning up his throat and he retched again for the second time that day. He shut his eyes tight, hidden by the open door, coughing and spitting onto the asphalt where no one could see. Cold shivers wracked him for a moment as he took several deep breaths, refusing to give in to the innate desire to cry that pricked his eyes whenever he was ill and had done so since he was a child. For a few more minutes he stood, hands on his knees, staring at a strand of saliva that hung from his lips as its end neared the ground—a hypnotizing, crystalline thread, swaying with his pulse. 

The moment of calm broke simultaneously with the strand, and he stood straight, wiping his mouth on the inside of his shirt hem. Kili opened the back door to the jeep, searching for anything with which he could rinse the sour taste from his mouth, finding a single, warm can of beer rolling around beneath the seat. He cracked it open and rinsed his mouth with the bitter drink, spitting out a load of foam before guzzling the rest of the can and tossing it away with a clatter under Dwalin’s SUV. Kili climbed into the jeep, careful not to disturb his mess and relaxed into the front seat. With the door shut, the only sound was a low thudding from the Forge and the slight wheeze of his breath. He pulled the plastic bag of pills from his pocket, fishing one of the little blue tablets from the folds. He held it tightly in one hand, while the other pulled a beaten old mp3 player from the console, its mirrored back scratched and dented. Driver’s license came next, and in moments he held the player up to his face, the pill already transformed into a small pile of powder and a few larger crumbs under his ministrations.

-Just half- he thought. -Just half to get straight. I can’t get sloppy tonight. I still gotta take Fíli home. Gotta make it through the show. That’s it. Then I can do what I want. Just…half.-

With a heavy inhale, the powder disappeared into Kili’s nose and he tilted his head back, a stinging drip trickling down the back of his throat as he snorted and sniffed. The effect was almost instantaneous, though he was sure some of the relief was psychosomatic, and his symptoms eased. His cheeks warmed, elbows going loose, and the tightness in his neck dissolved away. The nausea still nagged at him, though the feeling was muted by the slow, rolling euphoria that took over his body. His breathing slowed. Worry, sadness, and memories faded like a TV left on in the background at a party.

When his nose ceased its tingling, Kili looked up. When had he closed his eyes?

***  
“Where the fuck is he?” 

Fíli winced as Tauriel tapped her foot, glaring at him from under sternly furrowed brows. 

“He just said he was going outside for some air. I don’t know from there. He promised to be back in just a minute,” Fíli answered her, biting his lip worriedly as he looked away and scanned through the side door and into the parking lot beyond.

“Well he’d fucking better be. We’re on in three, and if Bard comes over here one more time to remind me, I’m going to really wreck someone’s night,” the fuming redhead grumbled.

Bombur placed a reassuring hand on Fíli’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, the weight of it comforting to the blond.

“Don’t worry about her,” he said, voice friendly and deep. “She’s just uptight about some bullshit that’s got nothing to do with you. I heard Legolas wants her to meet his dad—you know. Go all official with things.”

Fíli looked to the drummer, a weak smile crossing his features.

“That’s a good thing then, right? Kili kind of told me that he’s the big producer around here—that it could be advantageous for them to be dating at this point in the game?”

Bomber tilted his head from side to side, his red beard fluttering against his barrel of a chest.

“It’s a lot of things. And it’s definitely the thing that’s got Tori’s panties bunched and dry-stuffed up in her twat, so just ignore her if she chooses to breathe fire in your direction, alright?”

Fíli nodded and sighed out a breath. Where, in fact, was Kili? Bard strolled by casually, shouting as he stepped strategically out of reach of the tall singer.

“ONE MINUTE, ASSHOLES!”

Tauriel growled audibly and spun as if to go after the man, but Dwalin wrapped a big arm around her shoulders, laughing as she tried to escape. Fíli watched the seen play out, only half hearing the woman’s arguments and shouts about swift retribution and carnage from under Dwalin’s muscles. He could feel the tension in the group rising with every second that the Irishman was absent.

“Come on, Kili…” he whispered to himself as the strobes flickered and fog machines started churning out their ethereal smoke. Bard was signaling for them to get on stage. The crowd sounded riotous beyond the curtains.

Just then, the guitarist arrived in a storm of long hair and panting, hands on his knees as he caught his breath after the sprint from the parking lot.

“Not late,” he gasped. “Am I?”

“Where the fuck were you, you fucking asshole?!” Tauriel seethed, grabbing the front of his shirt. 

“Takin’ an evening jog, mate! Where else would a health-conscious bloke like myself be just before he’s supposed to show up somewhere important?” Kili joked, reaching a hand around the back of her head to pull her down and place a smacking kiss on her cheek.

“We’re up right now,”” she grated out, pushing him off. “And you’re a stinking sweaty douche bag. Go!”

Fíli gaped at the man, relief crashing over him and blocking out any uneasiness he may have felt watching Kili kiss the woman. What would have happened if he’d not arrived just in the nick of time? Kili turned to him in the close quarters, wrapping his arm around Fíli’s hips tightly. A stirring rose up in the blond man’s stomach at the contact and he swallowed the nervous lump in his throat as Kili leaned up to him.

“I don’t stink, do I?” he asked in his teasing tone, mirth-filled eyes meeting Fíli’s. “When you’re ready, head around the side here and get posted up wherever you like. Put anything at the bar on our tab, and I’ll come find you after the set. Oh,” he hesitated for a moment, gaze shifting as he looked down, then back. “One for luck.”

With this, Kili planted his lips on Fíli’s in a quick peck, squeezing his arm a little tighter around the man’s waist. It was over in a flash, and before he knew it the guitarist was gone, shooting off through the fog and up onto the stage behind his bandmates. Fíli stood in the dim lighting next to the stage completely dumbfounded, heart slamming in his chest. He took a swift survey of the immediate area, and when no one charged from the sides to harass him, the smile he’d held back spread across still tingling lips like an unstoppable flood. As far as kisses go, it wasn’t the best one he’d ever had, but it was the first one he’d received in longer than he cared to think about, and it had come from Kili—not a hook up at the bar, not a drunk Thorin—Kíli, a man he barely knew and yet to whom he already felt so connected. Fíli wasn’t sure what to do for a moment, and until his head stopped spinning he stood, staring after the guitarist, fingertips lightly touching the pink flesh of his lips.

For a moment, worry nearly drowned him. Did his breath smell? Were his lips chapped? Had his mouth been open? Was his beard too rough? He really should have shaved that morning in the shower. Had he even brushed his teeth? Fíli shook his head, snapping out of the thought spiral and doggedly went to search for a place to watch the show. There was nothing he could do now but wait until it was over and hope that Kili hadn’t been aiming for his cheek and accidentally hit his mouth instead—and maybe even hope that it might happen again.

On the other side of the curtain, the scene was even more chaotic than behind the veil. A churning crowd had rushed the stage when the band began their set, and the balcony above was nearly as tumultuous. The bar, directly below the balcony, was surrounded by patrons more easy going, but the gathering was still three or four bodies deep, and it took several minutes before he was served—he’d given in and gotten a beer, despite his earlier misgivings—and had found his way into a clearing where several others milled around.

The scene on stage was much like the night before. The vinyl curtain had been drawn up, revealing a stage packed with amplifiers and microphones. Dragon Desolation moved about between it all, weaving their spell over the crowd. When all together, the five band members had a chemistry borne out of their friendship, skill, and showmanship that filled the venue with a crackling electricity which sparked into movement as a small mosh pit began to swirl where the sea of bodies drew together like opposing currents. It was a wholly different experience to watch the show from further away, and Fili spent equal amounts of time people watching and staring at Kíli.

The guitarist knew how to put on a show, Fíli admitted to himself. Between the bone-shaking growls and attractive accent, it wasn’t surprising that every time he spoke into the microphone women in the crowd screamed and howled for more. Insecurity and confidence warred within him—it was a delicious secret knowing that of all of the people who clamored for Kíli’s attention, the guitarist had picked him, but would that always be the case? Would he always turn someone away when the opportunity presented itself? 

Fíli shook his head to clear it of the obtrusive thoughts. He had to remind himself that this was a first date, and that even if things were going well, it didn’t mean that the man was somehow beholden to him in the least. If Kíli went out on the road again and sprinkled the same affection onto someone else, he had no right to say anything about it—he was still practically a stranger to the man. Of course, despite this reasoning, Fíli still clenched his teeth at the thought of the Irishman doing so. He pressed the large can of beer to his lips, trying to scrape together any memory of the kiss that had happened so quickly he’d barely known what was happening. Quick as it was, it was still a kiss, and when he touched that memory, he could do nothing but smile and watch the dark haired man on stage. 

Without having to defend himself from the pit, it was much easier to see exactly how well he played. Kíli’s fingers were lightning in a storm, and it was impossible to follow every note. There were sets of chords during which Fíli was convinced the man’s hands disappeared entirely. Kíli brought his entire body into the action of the music, and when he wasn’t head banging or planting his feet wide to swing the guitar in a vertical sweep, he would flash white-toothed smiles or throw up his fingers in horns to the crowd, earning roars and whistles from men and women alike. During a particularly slow ballad that Tauriel crooned into the microphone, Kíli and Dwalin paired off to play mournful melodies on either side of her, eyes closed and faces somewhat drawn. Fíli ate up the experience—it was like witnessing the entire range of emotions that a person could possibly have, one right after the other. Another song ripped through the band, and then another. Fíli heard Bombur’s bass drop that Bard had scowled over before, and rubbed his chest at the sensation—the sheer intensity and volume of the venue causing his breath to catch. 

At times, trash would flutter down from the balcony, and Fíli dodged as a plastic cup of ice hit the floor and exploded like a tiny grenade. If the crowd was already this rowdy, it seemed impossible that it could get much more intense, but somehow it did. A tussle broke out in the edge of the group to his right, and Fíli could see two men, both in denim vests similar to Kíli’s jacket, grappling with one another until their respective friends pulled them apart. The crowd spat one of them out like driftwood from the ocean, and Fíli couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows in nervous surprise. The man from the previous night—rings and all—came stumbling out from between two girls, both of whom let out a loud “hey!” as he jostled them roughly. Fíli kept a wary eye on the man, edging around in the small clearing until he thought he’d be able to watch both the man and the show, but the task proved impossible as he angrily disappeared into the crowd nearest the bar, his large fists clenched, scraggly beard bristling. 

With a cautious breath and a quick scan of the crowd around the bar, Fíli took another gulp of beer as Dragon Desolation went into their final song. Tauriel hollered the band’s thanks into the microphone, throwing her tattooed arm up and giving a roar that was supplemented by that of a recorded beastly sound, and the crowd responded with cheers. Slowly the mass thinned out as concert goers rested between sets, surrounding the bar and forcing Fíli away from under the balcony’s protective cover. The man kept to the edge of the floor, only pulling out his phone to check for any messages when he’d managed to avoid being bumped or shoved for a solid count of ten. The screen flashed bright in the dim lighting of the Forge, but there was nothing from Kíli yet. He sent a message of his own with a few flicks of his thumb.

[Heading to the bathroom. Meet me there?]

He shoved the device back into his pocket, and carefully made his way toward a flickering sign that denoted the restrooms. The tile floor was slick with what he hoped was spilled water, and he relieved himself as quickly as possible, his beer can resting on the mirror ledge. When he turned to the sink, Fíli was surprised by the sight of his own appearance in the mirror. His golden hair lay tousled to his shoulders, the braids Dis had put in hours before had only come slightly loose over his ears. The few days growth of beard left him with a rougher look than he was used to, but it shocked him how much he looked like one of the rest of the crowd—the dark clothing lending him an air he wasn’t used to. He could see how it might be slightly deceiving, and vowed to wear his usual flannel if Kíli agreed to see him again, though he was growing attached to the stark design on the hoodie, and pulled the zipper up slightly so the medallion sized crest over his heart was visible.

Checking his phone one more time and straightening the hem of the sweatshirt over his hips, Fíli turned to leave, but was stopped painfully short as the heavy door flung inward against his shoulder and chest, crushing his beer can and drenching both himself and the man that had barged in as he dropped it to the floor. Fíli backed up, suddenly furious that the beverage and soaked through his clothing, leaving him cold, dripping, and sticky, shoulder burning hotly where it had been smashed by the door. He shook a splash of drops off the sleeve, splattering them onto the floor, prepared to give the person a piece of his mind.

“Jesus, fuck, man! Gotta piss so bad you…” Fíli looked up, blue eyes flashing angrily, but the fire of irritation flickered cold as he recognized the wide, looming figure. 

“Look who it is!” the large man said, crowding into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him with an ominous bang. His rings clacked loudly on its wooden surface when he looked back to Fíli. “Got your boyfriend with you this time? I owe him a good beat down, but I suppose I could start with you.” 

“Really, man?” Fíli retorted, doing his best to make himself seem as large as possible. He drew his chest up and spoke again, leaving his hands open and ready to defend. “It was an accident. Look, just fuck off back to where you came from and we can forget about all the bullshit.”

The larger man came forward with a shove, planting his thick hands on Fíli’s chest and sending him back deeper into the bathroom several feet. Fíli grit his teeth, reaching forward to return the blow, but the man was ready for it, obviously having had his share of practice that evening and likely for the years before. He shoved Fíli’s arms to the side with a swift swing of his elbow, coming up into the blond’s center and grabbing what he could with a heavy grunt—one hands wrapping in the front of the Fíli’s shirt, the other twisting deep into the golden hair at the base of his head.

Fíli’s breath choked off as his face was drawn up toward the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, and he was transported miles away into the dim kitchen with a screaming lover. There was no bathroom, no concert, no Kíli or his friends. It was dark and there was only survival and the electrifying rush of adrenaline and fear that flushed over his body in a burning wave. Pain crackled across this scalp, and in the split second that it took to shake loose the grasp of that night long ago, he let out a loud shout and smashed a blow against the large man’s cheek. With his head drawn up, however, his aim was poor, and it glanced off the man’s bearded skin rather than connecting true. Fíli’s wide eyes saw little then but the incoming blow of thick, ringed fingers, and a terrible thudding pain awoke in his face as he was flung to the floor, followed by the bright copper tang of blood in his mouth as it streamed from his nose and lip. 

Dazed, he tried pushing himself up from the floor, but the man’s booted foot caught him in the hip, throwing him down once more with a cry. Another blow from a heavy fist, this one to the stomach, and another in the same spot, smashing all air from his lungs in a frightening hiss and making Fíli dry heave as his stomach rebelled against the violence done upon it. Back braced against the hard tile floor, he lifted a knee, holding the man up and off of him for a moment, but with no air and curled upward as he was, he failed to hold the weight for long. Fíli knew there would be no winning this fight—he could only escape, and in a last ditch effort to fling the man off of him, his fingers closed around one side of the man’s neck and he gave a hard twist of his abdomen. It was just enough to throw his opponent off balance, and the blond squirmed out from beneath him in a hurried sit-up. The escape was abruptly arrested, however, as the hood of the beer-soaked sweatshirt caught on the corner of the open door of a bathroom stall and brought him up short. There wasn’t time for another attempt, and the raging man barreled down on him.

***  
“Fíli?” Kíli shouted, making his way through the crowd and toward the Forge’s bathrooms as the text had read. 

Several times he was accosted by show goers as they thrust drinks into his hand or merch at him to sign. He was plied with questions and several groups requesting that he join them at the bar, and he called out rain checks as he moved on, searching through the throngs of people for the golden mane of hair that stood his date apart from the rest of crowd. He reached the small alcove in front of the restroom doors, where a small group was forming. Kíli rolled his eyes at those willing to queue up to take a leak when they could just sneak out through the nearby fire exit and finish their business behind the dumpsters. He swiveled his head again, catching no sight of Fíli, and so pulled out his phone to send another text to locate the man. In that moment, however, a sound caught his ears above the music pumping over the PA system. It was the loud smash of metal doors and it echoed over the heads of the group that shouted in the doorway to the toilets.

Kíli narrowed his eyes, a sneaking apprehension crawling sluggishly above his high, and he moved toward the gathering, tapping shoulders and outright shoving people out of the way as it became obvious what laid beyond the wall of spectators. The tiled floor came into view, and suddenly Kíli could hear voices—shouts and grunts that punctuated the thuds and smacks of a scrambling, desperate fight. With one last shove, Kíli broke through the group. His reactions were slow, bogged down by the drug, and it was a fearsome moment of hyper-focus that made the blood on the floor redder than it should have been. It spattered the beer-flooded tiles in a trail that led to the two wrestling bodies near the stall doors, and beyond the broad, denim-covered back of the man currently raising a meaty fist, Kíli caught a glimpse of bright yellow hair. 

In a flash, Kíli hurled himself through the air, tackling the man to the floor and landing astride him with all of his weight. There was a hiss of breath as he knocked the wind out of his opponent, but the drastic movement brought no pause as he rained blows down upon him. His closed fists hit hard, smashing into the man’s face over and over. His thighs burned as he squeezed the soft belly between them, holding on with all of his might as the man bucked and writhed under this new assailant. Kíli knew there was action surrounding him, but felt nothing, only rage boiled through him and translated into the resounding punches that landed on the man beneath him. There was a sickening crunch and his fist blasted laterally across the man’s bearded jaw, followed by the clink of broken teeth and a grotesque splatter of saliva and blood that flung from between the man’s purpling lips. Kíli still saw nothing, only red, only Fíli on that wet floor, only blood. Only Fíli, Fíli, Fíli…

“Kíli!”

There were hands around him them, reaching under his arms and drawing him away from the writhing, coughing man on the floor. They dragged him up, and yet he managed to fling in a hard kick that landed true, right in the bastard’s groin.

“Kíli, enough! He’s down!” It was Dwalin, the older man’s voice roaring into his ear.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” Kíli shouted, spitting his wrath onto the man who was dragging himself up on the sink. “If I see you at another show again, I’ll fucking kill you! Do you understand me, you fucking prick bastard?!”

“Get him out of here,” came Tauriel’s voice from near the door, full of disgust. 

Kíli dragged his feet, breathing hard. His bright eyes were wide with rage, focused only on the man’s face. He wasn’t finished yet—and he planted his stance wide to slow down his bandmate’s insistent pulling.

“Dwalin! Get him the fuck out of here!” Tauriel yelled again, holding the door wide. 

Kíli refused to look away from his foe, wouldn’t budge until finally Dwalin picked him bodily off the ground. The Irishman flailed his legs in the air, heavy boots hitting the doorway as his larger friend carried him through the gawking crowd and out into the parking lot.

***  
When Kíli burst into the bathroom, Fíli could feel no relief; there was only the instant terror that he’d be witnessed in the compromising position. He put everything at risk engaging with the man—himself, the band, Kíli—and he wanted nothing more than to dissolve into earth, pain radiating out from his face and stomach. It happened so quickly, Kíli’s blows crashing down on the man with lightning intensity. He reached out as though he could stop the furious guitarist from further harming the large man beneath him.

“Fíli, come on,” came Ori’s voice from somewhere above him. “Let Dwalin get him. Come on.”

Everything was blurred as he was led stumbling from the venue, his eyes watering and the cooling air of the evening smarting across the split in his lip. 

“Kíli…” he stammered. “Ori, where’s Kíli?”

“Dwalin’s got him, here, take this,” the smaller man said, pressing a wad of paper towel into Fíli’s hand. 

They were outside of a back door where Fíli recognized nothing. There were soft mats on the cement where equipment sat waiting for load in, and a few members of other bands milled about, smoking and relaxing in rings of plastic seating away from the crowd. Ori dragged him a little further away as the other musicians looked up, trying to figure out what the disturbance was about. They stopped on the other side of a small trailer that had been detached from its vehicle, and Fíli had to stop. He sat on the tongue, an arm curling around his bruised middle, and let out a short groan as he doubled over, his body finally giving in to the shock of the assault. Ori smartly let him be for a moment, and he worked on getting his breathing under control as he shivered in the night air. Every ripple of shakes that passed over him cramped his abdomen, and it was several minutes before he could sit up straighter. He held the crumble of paper towel to his face, blearily blinking his eyes. He was surprised to feel that they were both opening and shutting as usual, though they did so more slowly than he was accustomed to, which meant that the brute had spared his face, other than the initial blow. He pulled the towel away and sniffed hard, watching blood slowly spread through its folds. 

Fíli sighed and pressed the paper back to his face, looking up at Ori who stood anxiously by the trailer’s edge. He waved frantically as he saw their companions come through the same door. Fíli could hear a few other shouts, but they sounded less panicked and angry as they had before.

“Dwalin. Dwalin, put me down, okay? I’m done, just…just put me the fuck down.”

There was a bit of a scuffling sound, and moments later the rest of the band came around behind the trailer to join the two men. Immediately, Kíli rushed to Fíli’s side, his hands fluttering about the blond’s face to look at the injuries that the ringed man had inflicted. 

“Fuck, Fíli, are you alright?” he asked hurriedly, pulling the man’s hand down and away from his nose.

Fíli’s mind reeled. Minutes before, Kíli had been beating a man half to death, but in the current moment, his hands couldn’t have been gentler. Carefully, he took the paper towel from Fíli and wetted it from a bottle that Bombur handed him. He used the unsoiled half to wipe the remaining blood smoothly from Fíli’s cheek and chin, examining the bruising beneath. Fíli winced at the cool touch, but held still, letting Kíli finish his work. The guitarist fretted in silence for a minute more, and Fíli appreciated the soothing strokes of the man’s fingers under his jaw and across his forehead, carefully moving his mussed hair away from the blood. His hands were calm, moving assuredly.

“Your…your hands…” Fíli muttered as he caught a glimpse of Kíli’s pale skin.

Kíli stopped his ministrations as if he’d only just noticed the damage. There was a deep split between two knuckles of his left hand, and blood leaked out steadily. There was blood on his right as well, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was his own or if it belonged to the ringed man, and swelling distorted the shape of the back of his hand. Despite this, however, he shook his head.

“Are you alright?” he asked again, one hand still beneath Fíli’s jaw. 

“But Kíli, your…”

“Are you okay?” Kíli interrupted, unwilling to accept any other conversation at the moment.

Fíli breathed tentatively through his nose. The bleeding had stopped, and so he touched it gingerly, thankful that it didn’t feel broken. He touched the tip of his tongue to his lip where the split had formed as it had been punched against his teeth, wincing again at the sting of his saliva. He was sure his face wasn’t going to be a particularly pleasing sight when he finally got a chance to look at it in the mirror.

“Yeah,” he answered after a moment. “I…I think I’m fine.”

“Kíli!”

The quiet moment between the two shattered as Tauriel’s angry voice shouted across the lot. Kíli’s warm hand came away from Fíli’s cheek, and they looked over to see the red head storming toward them.

“Kíli, what the FUCK was that? I swear to fucking god, if you’re fucking high right now and you fucking beat that guy into the fucking floor, Kíli. God dammit, what were you thinking?!”

Tauriel yelled until she was out of breath, and Kíli blanched at her words, eyes shooting to Fíli, who just stared at her as though she really were the fire-breathing dragon that people suggested. If he squinted, he could swear he saw wings angrily curling up behind her, but he shook his head, clearing it of the wooziness, and stood up.

“Tauriel, please, it was my fault, I…” Fíli started to explain.

“Oh, your fault? Your fuckin’ fault? Of course it’s your fuckin’ fault! Who the fuck do you think you are, showing up and putting our gig in jeopardy? You both could have gotten killed, or worse, that guy could press charges and then that’s the fucking end for us! Kíli, you know a fucking legal battle will absolutely destroy any momentum we’ve worked for, all because you fucking butt-buddies—”

“Tori. That’s enough.”

It was Ori who had spoken, and he stood with his arms crossed, glaring at her silently from across their small group. At that moment, Fíli looked to Kíli, whose eyes had begun to blaze much as they had in the bathroom minutes before. His fists had balled up, and Fíli watched as a single bead of blood gathered at the split in his knuckles and dripped to the pavement. Bombur stood keeping watching at the side of the trailer, sparking up a joint, and Dwalin shifted uneasily from foot to foot as the red head laid into the two injured men. Ori was the only one willing to intervene on her tirade.

“That’s enough,” he said again. “We’ll deal with shit as it comes up, but I doubt the guy is going to do anything. Let’s go back inside and finish load out, okay? And Kíli?”

Hearing his name spoken so softly and firmly, Kíli relaxed, looking to his bandmate.

“Kíli, sober up and get Fíli home, okay? Just stay out here. We’ll take care of the rest of this. You’ve got Sligo and Belfast all packed up, right?”

Kíli nodded, letting out a breath he’d been holding.

“Yeah. They’re in the jeep. I’ve got Fíli. You guys just finish load out, and I’ll see you Monday. Practice as usual unless I say otherwise, alright?”

Heads nodded, though Tauriel rolled her eyes hard and turned away with a sweep of her long auburn hair, heading back into the building. Ori followed her, and Bombur walked with him, knocking the cherry out of his join and putting the roach in his pocket. Dwalin hesitated.

“Got something to say, Dwalin?” Kíli asked tersely, meeting the man’s eyes.

“Only that I’m glad you’re alright, kid. I got there first, so I saw what happened. Tauriel doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. Fíli, you okay?”

Fíli nodded gingerly, his neck and shoulders having stiffened in the time since the fight, making him feel as though he’d survived a particularly violent car accident.

“I’m…I’m fine Dwalin. Nothing some ice and an aspirin won’t clear up. Thanks for…for everything tonight, okay? Would you thank Ori for me too?”

Dwalin nodded and gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder, at which the blond winced, making the large man draw away quickly.

“Sorry, sorry. Okay…you two get home safe. Kíli, I’ll see you Monday, but…gimme a call later, would ya?”

Kíli nodded. 

“Yeah. Will do.”

Dwalin turned and headed back to the building, closing the door behind him with a metallic click.

Fíli let out a breath and sagged, sitting back on the tongue of the trailer as his arm came back around his stomach. In the space of a breath, Kíli closed the distance between them and warm lips covered his. It was a slow kiss, tender and tentative. Like the gasp released by two souls reuniting after far too long apart. They fit together almost too perfectly, and he shut his eyes, just letting himself feel for a moment. He felt his trembling muscles, his busted lip throbbing under the contact, the soft tickle of Kíli’s hair against his wrists as he reached up to touch Kíli’s face, and the guitarist’s insistent pressing of lips. He could hear their breathing, uneven but slow, and the hush of their clothing as Kíli reached an arm around his shoulders and pulled him carefully against his chest, always mindful not to hurt him further. He gave in to the kiss, and likely never would have stopped it, until the throbbing of his bruised face became too much and he had to put a hand to Kíli’s hard chest and push himself away.

Kíli immediately dropped to one knee, looking up into Fíli’s face and he rested his hands on either side of the man’s hips.

“Fíli, I’m sorry. I should have been there—I just took extra time to get my guitars to the car. I…I should have been there.”

Fíli shook his head. It was all too much. So little was registering with him now that the adrenaline was ebbing out of his system. He was cold and shivering, and wanted nothing more than to get in the car and leave.

“Kíli…can I have that cigarette now?” he asked quietly, and Kíli nodded, frantically fishing the package out of his jacket pocket, lighting one and handing it off to the blond, who spoke again. “And…not to be a party pooper but…I think it’s time that I go home. I’m pretty sure that if Tauriel sees me again, I’ll wish I was dead more than I already do.”

Kíli gave him a worried look, standing up as Fili did.

“Fíli, don’t listen to her. It’s…it’s not…” he started to say, but Fíli held up a hand to stay his response.

“Home first. Talking later. I’ll throw up if I talk much more tonight, this,” he drew up his shirt, showing Kíli the knotted bruise that was swiftly turning purple across his stomach, “is going to hurt a lot for a while.”

Kíli bent to look at the wide mark, unable to help but notice the attractive trail of darker golden hair that led from Fíli’s navel to beyond the waist band of his jeans. He lifted a hand and touched the bruise as gently as possible, though Fíli still winced slightly and brushed his hand away.

“Home,” the man repeated as he stood up.

Kíli nodded and lit a cigarette for himself before walking Fíli slowly to the jeep. Fíli longed to hold the man’s hand, but after everything that had happened, he had no idea what he should be doing other than doggedly trudging toward the black vehicle on the other side of the parking lot. When they reached it, Kíli held the door for him and he stepped up, settling his sore body with a grimace in the seat. Kíli walked swiftly around the other side, his mild high keeping the worst of his pain at bay. He stepped over his mess of sick from earlier, and hopped up into the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition to turn the heat up. He’d felt Fíli trembling as they’d kissed, and knew that warmth would help keep shock at bay.

They drove in silence for several miles—Kíli worriedly glancing over at his passenger, who appeared to be falling asleep as he crashed from the adrenaline surge. The small tremors that ran through his body had ceased as the car warmed up, but he kept his left arm wrapped firmly around his stomach. In his right hand he held the cigarette, the ash of which was long and occasionally broke off and dropped onto his knee, but he didn’t seem to care. In the dark, Kíli reached over and took the butt from between loose fingers and tossed it out the window. He quickly finished his own and threw it out as well. Assuming the other man was asleep, Kíli turned the volume up on the stereo slightly, settling in for the long drive.

“Kíli?” Fíli asked after a few songs, startling the Irishman somewhat. 

“Yeah?” he responded, glad to hear the other man’s voice, even if it did sound small and unsure.

“What did Tauriel mean about you being high? And…and Ori when he told you to sober up?”

Kíli bit his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth. He hadn’t thought that Fíli had heard his bandmates say those things, but apparently the man had been observant even in all the chaos. Now, he didn’t know what to say—a lie wouldn’t be fair, but the truth wouldn’t serve either of them well in that moment. He decided to waffle between the two when he answered, speaking quietly over the whisper of the jeep’s tires.

“I can’t always be sure when it comes to those two, but what I can say is that that might be a conversation best left for another night. A lot’s gone on, and it’s probably not the best time to play confessional. I…”

He paused for a moment, looking at Fíli who stared out the windshield at passing mile markers and trash along the shoulder of the highway.

“I’m sorry, Fíli.”

Fíli said nothing, and they rode for miles like that. After a while, Kíli heard a small snore bubble up from his passenger, and he smiled, but the relaxation was short lived as a wave of pain spasmed up from his hands and into his shoulders and neck. The high had finally worn off, and it was looking to be an ugly night. Cold sweat broke over his forehead, and a case of shivers had him turning up the heat another two notches before he made it to the next exit and pulled over in a fast food restaurant. Checking to see if Fíli was still asleep, he left the engine running and headed inside, booking it for the bathroom where he locked himself in a stall, fumbling for the plastic bag in his pocket. Digging his license out of his wallet, Kíli scooped some of the remaining bits of powder onto it and inhaled deeply. It was just enough to work, and though his body still ached ferociously, a deep sense of responsibility for getting Fíli into this mess kept him from pulverizing another tablet and nodding out in the jeep. He had to get the man home, at least.

Kíli exited the stall and went to the sink. He ran his hands under warm water, hissing as the split in his knuckle cracked and bled orange streaks into the basin. He splashed some water onto his face, scrubbed a towel over himself, and turned off the tap before walking into the main restaurant. Kíli stood at the counter for a moment before ordering two large Cokes. The young man at the counter stared at his bloodied and bruised hands as he handed him a bill.

“Problem, kid?” he asked, furrowing his brows in a look that suggested great harm would come to him if he had one.

“N-no, sir,” the employee stammered, quickly gathering the change. “S-seventeen ninety-eight is your change. Have a nice n-night!”

Kíli grunted, picked up the beverages and headed back to the jeep where Fíli slept. After situating himself back in his seat and getting back to the highway, Kíli reached over and gently shook Fíli’s knee. Part of him worried that there might have been damage that Fíli hadn’t felt when he was still in shock, and so he assumed it would be better to keep the man awake at least for a time.

“Hey—Fíli. Got you a drink, love. Can you wake up for me?” he asked, drawing his hand away.

Fíli woke with a start that shifted into a hard wince as his stomach was jostled, but turned to Kíli.

“W-what?” he asked, voice tinged with sleepiness.

“A Coke, here. Take a few drinks, would ya? You should probably stay awake until we’re back, just so I know you’re okay.”

Fíli hummed, picking up the heavy cup, and swallowed tentatively. He hadn’t realized how dehydrated he’d become, and gratefully took a few more deep swigs before setting the beverage back in the cup holder. He looked at Kíli a few times while the man drove, but a dark expression had crossed over his features, and it was hard to decipher anything that could be going on behind the hazel eyes.

It wasn’t long before they were pulling on to his street. Kíli hadn’t attempted to make any more conversation, though he’d smoked almost non-stop from the moment Fíli had woken up. As he pulled the jeep into the driveway and unlocked the doors, he turned to Fíli again, leaning in as though he might press another kiss to his lips. Something about it felt wrong, however, and Fíli turned to the side, letting Kíli’s lips hit his cheek. The dark haired man pulled away, and Fíli could see the hurt there, could finally read the worry, sadness, and even confusion in his face. 

“Fíli, I’m…I’m sorry again for what happened…” Kíli started to explain, but Fíli was opening the door and stepping carefully out of the jeep, his face tight as he unfolded stiff legs.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kíli asked again, ready to jump from the vehicle to help Fíli to the door, but Fíli just nodded, holding up another hand.

“I’m fine. I’ll…I’ll call you. G’night, Kíli.”

Kíli sighed, but knew he deserved that response. He’d put Fíli in a dangerous situation, and this was the result.

“G’night, Fíli.”

Fíli closed the door with a thud, walking up the driveway past his tarp covered bike, and slowly headed up the steps into the home he shared with his sister. He heard the jeep pull away from the house as he stood on the landing and shut the door, watching the headlights move down the street. As soon as they were gone, Fíli sunk down onto the floor of the landing, his head in his hands and his hair hanging down in a messy sheet. A bit of blood stained the braid on his right side leaving an inch-long, stiff, brown section that made him ache and shudder to look at.

What had he been thinking?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. This was a really difficult chapter to get out and a few times I considered cutting it in half, but for the wait you get 52 pages of something I ended up really happy with. Enjoy, and please keep up with the wonderful comments and kudos.


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